The Snake Pit
by sienna27
Summary: TV Show Episode Title Challenge - Prompt Set #6 - Title Challenge: Zombies - NOT a zombie story - H/P friendship - Hotch & Emily are investigating a case that takes them to an abandoned psychiatric hospital; M for violence/language
1. Prologue

**Author's Note**: H/P are not a couple here so you can read this if you're not a shipper.

This is nothing like anything I've written before. So if you enjoy my Nora Ephron'esque little relationship stories, fair warning, you may not care for this one. This is NOT a relationship story, or even just an angsty/dramatic story. This is my first effort at a scary/creepy story. It's not so much a case fic as an event that happens while they're on a case. And at this moment, their case has taken them to an abandoned psychiatric hospital in Cedar Grove, New Jersey. If you're familiar with the movie Session 9, that would be the 'tone' here.

And don't let the challenge word scare you off. This is _not _a story about 'zombies'. It's just that that was the word that put me on the creepy story path. Ironically when I picked that prompt for the list I had a totally different idea in mind. But sometimes that happens. This is just the prologue, I'll explain more in the A/N for chapter 1.

**The title**: In case you aren't aware, a 'snake pit' was another word for a mental hospital back, obviously, before the days of political correctness.

* * *

**Prompt Set #6**

Show: Rescue Me

Title Challenge: Zombies

* * *

_Prologue_

Emily dug her nails into Hotch's arm as she whispered frantically to him.

"Hotch, I want to get out of here _now!_"

All of a sudden she had a really, really bad feeling about this place. It was ten times worse than when they'd walked in the door. And she was ready to jump out of her skin then. But now every hair was standing on end. They needed to leave. Her eyes began to burn.

They needed to leave right NOW!

Hotch took a breath to catch his temper, he was more than a little on edge and he didn't want to snap at her. God knows he wanted to leave too. Turning slightly towards her he whispered back.

"I know you want to leave Prentiss. I know. Trust me, I do too. But we _have_ to check the file room first. Then we can go."

He felt a stab of guilt when he heard the tears in her voice as she pleaded softly with him, "yeah, but Hotch I . . ." and then she shrieked and her hand she was torn away from his arm as her flashlight clattered to the ground at his feet.

Stunned, he stood there for a moment and then the adrenaline shot through his system as he started screaming her name.

"EMILY! EMILY **ANSWER** ME! WHERE ARE YOU?"

His blood pounded in his ears, his flashlight darted all around him. All he could see in the little circle of light was the dank filthy hallway. There was a pentagram painted on the wall.

WHERE SHE COULD BE! SHE WAS **RIGHT** HERE!

His beam finally caught a glint of metal on the floor and he took a few steps down the hall, leaning over to pick up her pistol.

She'd lost her weapon.

Oh Christ! Oh Jesus! This was not happening!

His stomach flipped as he froze for a moment, listening to the silence.

She was gone.

* * *

_A/N 2: And . . . we're done. No, just kidding. There's more. The next chapter is written. Counting the prologue I think this will be probably 3 or 4 chapters in total. For now I'm going to leave it rated T. I haven't written anything upsetting enough to go higher but, possibly it could change. I haven't finished it yet._

_Feedback folks, you know it makes things come faster . . . _


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: First real chapter. You may notice some subtle influences of prior eps and actually a few other television shows/movies, and some real life stuff as well. It was kind of a swirl of things.

* * *

_**Twenty Seven Minutes Earlier**_

Emily stared out the window as they climbed the twists and turns of the hilly road leading up to the main buildings of the hospital. The sky was grey, the trees were bare, the grass was overgrown and the ground was covered in dead leaves left over from last fall.

Basically the scene from her window was depressing as hell.

But that was okay, it matched her mood. Because as shit assignments went this ranked about at the top of the list.

She and Hotch were in Essex County New Jersey, heading up to the abandoned psychiatric hospital in Cedar Grove. There had been a patient here, a very, very sick man who had been convicted of butchering his entire family in 1974.

At the time he was fourteen years old.

The crime was so heinous that he'd been tried as an adult, but his court appointed attorney had him plead not guilty by reason of mental disease or defect. And given the facts of the case, the things he had done with the bodies, it wasn't hard to convince a jury that he was crazy. So he was found "not guilty" of the crimes everyone knew he had committed. And he was institutionalized in this hospital, waiting for the day he would be cured and only then would he would be released.

That day was never supposed to come.

But then twenty one years later he was miraculously judged "sane," and the day that was never supposed to come, arrived. In actuality this man was probably even more disturbed when he left than he had been when he killed his entire family that day in September 1974. But the year he was released, the state mental health budget was slashed and a lot of people had been judged sane that shouldn't have been.

Garcia had run the numbers. Of the 162 people released between January 1995 and January 1996, 97 of them had later been reinstitutionalized or incarcerated. Fortunately only a fraction of the original 162 had been truly dangerous offenders. But their crimes were bad. The worst. They'd been rotting in those state hospitals for decades because nobody knew what else to do with them. Nobody else wanted to take them.

But the criteria for release that year wasn't 'sanity,' it was how long you'd been taking a bed. How long you'd been a drain on the system. So anyone that had been receiving psychiatric care for more than twenty years was deemed fit to move back into society. It was a travesty. And this 'gentleman' in particular, Darren Watts, he had been released against the fervent wishes of his psychiatric team. The list of their objections was long but the one Garcia had read to them, the one that stuck with them, happened when Darren was 17. He had stolen a carving knife from the cafeteria and before they knew it was missing, before they got it back, he had cut out one patient's tongue and took three fingers from another. The reasons. One had stolen his pudding and the other had sung the words wrong to the Happy Days theme.

Happy Days was Darren's favorite show and he wanted to make sure it didn't happen again.

So there was that, that was a big one. But there were a number of other incidents over the years. Some involving small animals, some involving fires, other incidents of torture and mutilation. Basically he was the real life version of Michael Myers. A walking talking demon from hell. And they'd rubber stamped him to save a buck.

He had been discharged in February 1995 and then he had disappeared off the map. But he was now their prime suspect in a series of murders in nearby Sussex County. Sussex County itself was part of the Appalachian Mountain chain. It was a much more rural area than the rest of New Jersey proper, which was known as one of the most densely populated states in the country.

But the homes in Sussex were more spread out. People who lived there didn't necessarily like to mix so much with their neighbors. And that was fine. Except, you don't with mix your neighbors and nobody notices for awhile when you go missing. But eventually the list of the missing did start to grow.

And then they found the bones.

A teenage boy had gotten drunk and gone for a swim. And as they were dragging the Delaware River looking for his body, they found a femur. And then an ulna. And then a skull.

One after another the bones were pulled from the river. The expert from the Smithsonian was able to discern at least sixteen separate skeletons. But the key point wasn't the number of bodies, which was horrific in itself, it was the condition of the bones.

The gnaw marks.

And that's when the BAU was called in. All any of them could think of was the case in Florida. That was bad enough the first time and now they had to go through that again.

So here they were, she and Hotch, driving up at . . . she checked her watch . . . 3:45 in the afternoon to gather the hard copies of Watts mental records. They didn't know where he was. He'd been released prior to the system becoming computerized so they had nothing on his next of kin. All they knew was that one day he'd come home from school and killed his immediate family with a hatchet, cooked up their internal organs and then propped up their mutilated corpses around the table while he had his dinner. They knew that much.

They were hoping the original records might give them some indicators on where he'd go now. And they'd love to talk to his former psychiatric team, that group of doctors that had opposed his release.

But they had all gone missing. So the team had a pretty good idea of the identities of at least four of the sixteen bodies. And the bitch of it was, nobody had even made the connection until the BAU had arrived and started putting together the profile. As the list of names narrowed they started contacting the doctors of the various patients on their list. The only patient who didn't have a doctor that could be reached was Watts. So they dug deeper, and now they were convinced it was him. Garcia had pulled together every little scrap of paper that had been computerized. But there just wasn't enough. They didn't know where to find him. And this, though it was a shit assignment, Emily knew it was a necessary one. They needed that original paperwork because they'd hit the wall.

They had absolutely no reason whatsoever to believe that he would come back here. The bodies had been found two counties over and he'd grown up in the southern part of the state. That's where Rossi and Reid were now, trying to find neighbors who had known the family.

But still, even though Watts hadn't had a connection to this hospital in fourteen years, Hotch had ordered her to carry a second weapon. And they had put on their vests before they even left the precinct. So clearly he hadn't completely ruled out the possibility of Darren returning to his old stomping grounds.

As they pulled up in front of the main administration building Hotch started to get a feeling of dread building in his stomach. Leaning slightly forward to look out the windshield, his eyes widened as he looked over the expanse of the crumbling structure looming over them. The hospital was over a hundred years old and this was the main wing. There was graffiti painted on the outside, most of the windows were bordered up and the ones that weren't had shards of dirty glass in them.

It looked like the entrance to hell.

He did not want to go into this building. But they had to do this, they were out of options. They would just be quick. In and out. Get what they needed and go. The electricity had been turned off and the sun was going down in less than two hours. Because they had to go so far into the building basically they'd be relying on their flashlights almost exclusively anyway. Still though, he didn't want to be in there after dark.

They had a good sense of direction though. It shouldn't take them more than fifteen or twenty minutes to find the records room. Say worst case, thirty minutes to locate the file, or at least determine if it had been destroyed. They still had time to get out before it was completely dark. Coming out would be easier than going in. He turned to Emily giving her a hard look.

"Stay _right_ next to me. We don't split up for ANY reason, is that understood?"

He was thinking of Tobias Hinkel. Hell, he was thinking of a lot of bad things right now, but that one was what always haunted him when any of them were out without backup.

Jaw clenched she nodded back, "don't you worry sir. We are now Siamese twins."

Like she was letting him out of her sight! Hell, if he'd let her, she'd hold his hand for the duration of their little trip to the fifth circle. Not exactly the most confidence inspiring image to project of the FBI but who the hell was out here to see it. Yeah, hopefully, no one!

And even if it wasn't a completely ridiculous visual to picture two FBI agents in full field gear, holding hands while they simultaneously had their pistols brandished, Hotch probably wouldn't go for it anyway. What with them having never exchanged more than a friendly pat on the back/arm/shoulder she didn't think continuous hand holding was really the next logical step in their burgeoning personal relationship. Not that much had burgeoned per se, but significant progress had been made over the last year. They were definitely good friends now. And if she had to go into this horrible place he was the first one she'd pick to go with her. Even over Morgan. Ordinarily she'd rank them evenly as backup, but Derek still had a tendency to go off and play Big Damn Hero. And she was NOT going to be left alone at any point in this little sojourn.

Seeing how unnerved Emily was Hotch downshifted slightly to their less formal off duty interactions. It was his job to make her feel better no matter how he felt personally.

Leaning over slightly he patted her arm, trying his best to give her a little smile.

"Don't worry Prentiss. We'll be fast. In and out."

Emily gave him a tight nod in return, "right," her eyes shifted back to the colossus in front of them, "in and out."

She knew he was trying to make her feel better but God knows one profiler can't hide things from another. And he was radiating WAVES of tension off of his body! And if Hotch was that unsettled it wasn't doing anything for her peace of mind. Maybe after this trip into the bowels of hell she could convince him to stop and get a beer. They could look over the records in the back booth of some crappy bar twenty miles away. That actually sounded like freaking nirvana right now. And she was going to keep that as the focus of their end game.

Get the files Em and then you can have a drink. The Skinnerian method of positive reinforcement worked in so many situations.

They got out of the SUV and Hotch had them do a weapons check. He knew he was treating this more like a raid than a simple errand, but he just didn't want to get taken by surprise.

With pistols drawn they cautiously headed up the warped front steps, stopping for a moment at the entrance to catch each other's eyes. With a slight nod Emily let him know she was ready, she had on her game face. Hotch looked down at the door.

The chain was hanging off of it.

Ordinarily that would be cause for specific alarm. But Garcia found out the county had stopped wasting the money on new padlocks because teenagers kept breaking in. They were planning on tearing most of these structures down within the next six months anyway. What the hell damage were they going to do to a building already scheduled for demolition?

Feeling the muscles in the back of his neck tighten like they were in a vise, Hotch slowly pushed open the door and stepped inside.

He did a quick visual reconnaissance.

The walls had originally been painted an institutional green, probably considered a 'soothing' color. But now the paint was peeling, and Garcia had warned them about asbestos in the walls. If they were going into any of the other buildings they would have needed masks. But given the level of environmental danger listed for exposure in this structure, Garcia had said they should be just fine without them provided they didn't stay all day. And Hotch trusted her opinion so he hadn't required them. Though when he had made that decision he hadn't considered other things in the air besides asbestos. And looking around now, he could only imagine what kind of dust and mold spores were floating.

And on a totally unrelated note, there were too many frigging creaks and moans going on around him for his liking. It was slightly windy outside and this building was close to 120 years old so creaking was normal, but still he didn't care for it. He didn't care for it at all. But they had to go further inside. And they had to go now because they were losing daylight.

Emily had followed Hotch into the front hallway, propping the door open with her hip. She was standing just to his right when suddenly she jumped slightly before whispering.

"What the hell was that noise?"

She immediately took the safety off of her pistol as her heart rate increased and her eyes scanned the darkened hallway. That wasn't just a creek. That was a bang. Like something getting knocked over.

Hotch's thumb slid over his safety as well. He'd heard it too. And there shouldn't be anyone here. Then he took a breath, trying to think rationally. God knows they couldn't afford to get spooked. He whispered back to her.

"It's probably just a rat or a raccoon or something. This place had been empty for almost two years. All kinds of creatures could have moved in since the people moved out."

Slightly mollified Emily nodded as she released her breath, "right, creatures."

What Hotch said made sense. But it was more the various 'kinds' of creatures that could have moved in that was giving her the heebie jeebies at the moment. She didn't necessarily believe in ghosts. But this place was creepy as shit! And Garcia had been kind enough to read the stats to her. They'd housed the mentally ill and the criminally insane for almost a century. Something like ten thousand people had died here. Not to mention, yeah, hi, cannibalistic serial killer on the loose! Not the place you wanted to spend any time dilly dallying around in.

But all they had to do was get down to the main record room, pull the files, and get the hell out of dodge. They'd studied the blueprints that Garcia had sent to their handhelds. It was a fairly straight shot. Unfortunately they had to go down to the basement though.

Christ . . . she bit her lip . . . she didn't want to walk another ten feet down this hallway let alone go down to the basement.

Her eyes were continually running over the shadows at the end of the hall. Their flashlight beams didn't go that far and she hated that she couldn't see what was right in front of them.

God, she hated creepy old abandoned mental hospitals. This was the second one she'd gone to her in her career. So many horrible things happened in them. And all those twisted, demented minds housed in one place.

It left a . . . film.

Glancing behind him, Hotch watched the shadows getting longer as they stretched over the SUV. They should have brought Morgan with them too. But they had too much ground to cover. They had to split up into smaller teams. Everyone knew where they were though. And they knew what time they were supposed to be back. So if something happened they would come looking for them.

Then he rolled his eyes, why the hell was he assuming something was going to happen? He had just told himself not to get spooked and he was doing it anyway. And the more time they spent dicking around at the door, the more daylight they were losing.

Tipping his head, he started down the hall, keeping his eyes peeled to the left, he knew Emily was covering the right.

Fortunately the rooms at this end of the building were large, open spaces. So all it took was a quick glance inside to see that the room was empty. This was a lockdown facility so most of the common areas only had one point of egress. Which worked out well for them right now. Because God knows he wouldn't be walking past any of these side rooms without checking them first. Not to say that somebody couldn't slip back in the front door, but he'd like to not _knowingly_ allow somebody to get in behind them.

They slowly worked their way down the main hall. The hairs on the back of Emily's neck were standing straight on end by the time they reached the first crossway. What little bit of light was being thrown in the front didn't reach back this far so all they had were the beams of their flashlights. Basically everything beyond those little pricks of light was pitch black.

The further in she walked the more she hated this place. And as creepy as it was, she was starting to think it less likely that Watts was hiding in the shadows. Really, she didn't see anyone, no matter how nuts he was, wanting to 'live' here again. And certainly not this guy. They'd done electroshock on him. Who comes back to the place that did electroshock on your? That's not a happy memory.

Hotch turned left at the first cross passage they reached. The stairs were at the end of this hall. At least they were on the blueprints.

Oh Christ . . . a horrible thought popped into his head . . . he hoped that was a good set!

It hadn't even occurred to him before but maybe they'd done renovations. No wait . . . he started to relax slightly . . . Garcia was thorough. She would have been looking for that. He knew she wouldn't send them in here to get lost. Okay, one mini-crisis shoved back into the closet.

The further they got into the building the more the creaks and the groans were . . . upsetting him. God, he was a grown man, an FBI agent, with two handguns and an armed partner and still he felt like he was five years old and there was a monster in the closet. He knew Emily wasn't faring any better though. And he wished he could think of something reassuring to say. But there was nothing. Not unless he could say they could turn around, which he couldn't.

And they couldn't even make small talk because they needed to be able to hear what was going on around them. It wasn't likely that Watts came back here now. The hospital was still in use until 2007. To have stayed completely off the map, and continue his life's work, (body count numbering in the fifties if they went with all the remains found and the alarmingly high number of missing persons in Sussex,) he would have had to have found permanent living quarters at least a decade ago. He definitely would have needed privacy for what he was doing. And he would have no reason to believe they were closing in on him, so why would he uproot himself?

But . . . stranger things had happened.

Sometimes the UNSUB had a sixth sense and had cleared out before they arrived. In which case, THIS would be a perfect place to hide. The muscles in his neck locked in place. Oh Christ, they should have brought Morgan! Or even JJ! She wasn't quite as field proficient as Emily or Derek, but she could take care of herself. And she sure as hell had proven she knew how to fire her weapon. Mental note Aaron, the next abandoned psychiatric institution you go wandering around in when there's a cannibalistic serial killer on the loose, take at least a three man/woman team.

Now he just hoped he was being overly cautious and he hadn't actually made a colossal error in judgment.

Suddenly Emily reached out and grabbed his sleeve, startling him enough that he jumped.

Emily dug her nails into Hotch's arm as she whispered frantically to him.

"Hotch, I want to get out of here _now!_"

All of a sudden she had a really, really bad feeling about this place. It was ten times worse than when they'd walked in the door. And she was ready to jump out of her skin then. But now every hair was standing on end. They needed to leave. Her eyes began to burn.

They needed to leave right NOW!

Hotch took a breath to catch his temper, he was more than a little on edge and he didn't want to snap at her. God knows he wanted to leave too. Turning slightly towards her he whispered back.

"I know you want to leave Prentiss. I know. Trust me, I do too. But we _have_ to check the file room first. Then we can go."

He felt a stab of guilt when he heard the tears in her voice as she pleaded softly with him, "yeah, but Hotch I . . ." and then she shrieked and her hand she was torn away from his arm as her flashlight clattered to the ground at his feet.

Stunned, he stood there for a moment and then the adrenaline shot through his system as he started screaming her name.

"EMILY! EMILY **ANSWER** ME! WHERE ARE YOU?"

His blood pounded in his ears, his flashlight darted all around him. All he could see in the little circle of light was the dank filthy hallway. There was a pentagram painted on the wall.

WHERE SHE COULD BE! SHE WAS **RIGHT** HERE!

His beam finally caught a glint of metal on the floor and he took a few steps down the hall, leaning over to pick up her pistol.

She'd lost her weapon.

Oh Christ! Oh Jesus! This was not happening!

His stomach flipped as he froze for a moment, listening to the silence.

She was gone.

He felt a level of fear he'd never experienced before. He'd LOST Emily! She'd been snatched right away from him! She was touching him! How could this have happened? How could he be so FUCKING irresponsible to come here without any other backup!

Shaking his head he tried to push away the self recrimination, he had no time for it now. He could hate himself later and for the next forty or fifty years. Right now he needed to focus. He needed to find her. He just didn't understand how she'd disappeared so quickly. It had to be someone who knew the . . . oh God.

Only by sheer force of will did he not throw up at that moment. It was Watts. It had to be Watts. Who else would know the structure well enough to slip up on them without any noise? And who else was fucking crazy enough to sneak up on two armed FBI agents?

Armed.

He looked down sadly at the pistol . . . not armed anymore.

And then suddenly he had a glimmer of hope. He made her take a second weapon! She never carried one but today he told her to sign out a Glock, it was in an ankle holster. Okay, that's great. She still had a weapon. He hadn't completely fucked up. But the only problem was he had no idea what her condition was. He shook his head again, another unproductive thought. No, he just had to focus on her. She was strong, she was smart and she could take out almost every guy in the gym. The only reason she'd gotten snatched was this prick had the element of surprise. So Hotch just had to find out where she'd been taken.

He tucked her pistol into his waistband and went over to pick up her flashlight off the ground. God he wished he had some duct tape. It was a bitch juggling his weapon and two Mag lights. But he sure as hell didn't want to leave the second one. For the time being he tucked his light into his vest. He felt better carrying hers. Like he had borrowed it and he needed to find her so he could give it back to her.

Turning back around, he tried to push aside his fear, push aside everything he knew about Watts, everything he had done to his victims, and just focus on the details of what he was seeing. This was basic tracking. He'd been in a panic a moment earlier, looking for some sign of HER. Now he needed to find signs of other things.

He did a mental count in his head to figure out exactly how many steps he had taken before he'd picked up her pistol.

Five . . . five steps.

They were heading towards the stairs on the SE corner when she got taken. And he found her pistol five steps away in the middle of the crossway they had just walked through.

Biting his lip, he stood in the middle of those intersecting corridors frantically running his eyes over the dirt and filth on the cracked tile floor. He was looking for some indication on which way to go. It would be something small. Something . . . his eyes widened.

There!

Hurrying over, he stooped down, dipping his index finger into the crimson droplet. His stomach flipped again.

Blood.

He started taking slow deep breaths. Don't freak out Aaron! You'll do her no good if you panic. You need to find her and this is not an unexpected development. She only screamed once. Which means immediately after that happened she was either gagged, or she was knocked out. And a gag would have taken time so he probably clocked her and that's what this is from. Just a little bump on the head. She's still okay. It's just a drop.

Rubbing his fingers together, smearing the blood on his hand, Hotch stood, aiming his flashlight down the corridor in front of him. With the big picture he couldn't see anything but more peeling paint and more graffiti. But his light only went so far.

Suddenly spinning around he checked behind him, and then the two side corridors.

He thought he'd heard something.

Standing completely still he cocked his head to one side trying to listen.

Nothing.

Maybe it was his imagination. Or maybe it was a rat. Under any other circumstances he'd want it to be nothing. But at the moment he desperately wished it was Watts. Because if he was up here stalking him, that meant he wasn't off with Emily doing God knows what to her.

Keeping close to the left side of the corridor Hotch slowly started making his way down, hugging the wall with his back, trying to keep one eye behind him. Yeah, he wanted Watts to be up here with him, but he did NOT wish to have a cleaver hit him in the back of the skull.

He was of no use to Emily dead.

And fortunately, as best as he could tell, there weren't any side doors leading off of this hallway so at least he didn't have to worry about someone jumping out.

Ten feet down the corridor he saw another droplet of blood and then five feet later another one and three feet after that yet another one and then the sprinkles continued regularly as he walked on. The fear was building again. She shouldn't be bleeding more now.

Why would she be bleeding more?

He tried to think of more benign reasons than the ones that first popped in his head. Maybe she started to wake up and there was a struggle. That would explain it. And that would explain it without there necessarily being another injury. Just the movement of being jostled around. He tried to make himself believe that, because he desperately wanted it to be true.

The ONLY positive about the blood trail was that he at least knew he was on the right track. He raised his flashlight to see that he was approaching the back staircase. His eyes widened slightly as he realized that meant she'd been taken down to the basement.

Fuck.

There were miles of tunnels on the sublevels. He could take her anywhere. And he didn't know how much longer he'd have a trail to follow.

When he got to the staircase he stopped, peering down into the blackness. He was having a moment of indecision, something rare for him. Should he try and get more help here now? Or keep going forward on his own?

Their cell phones didn't work in the building, and there was spotty coverage for the last mile leading up the hill. It's not like he could just run upstairs and call 911. He'd actually have to get in the SUV and drive at least a mile before he could call anyone.

The thought of actually abandoning her here alone was what made his decision for him.

He couldn't leave her. That was unthinkable. Even if it was the logical choice of action, he'd never forgive himself. It would take him time to get down the hill and then more time for the others to get here. Even the local authorities. So that could easily be fifteen or twenty minutes he lost in search time.

And that might be fifteen or twenty minutes that she didn't have.

No . . . he shook his head . . . he'd stay here and he'd search for her as long as his batteries held up. Plus he had both their flashlights so he could search for twice as long. And the others would realize there was something wrong by six. That's when they were supposed to be back. At the very least that's when they were supposed to check in. And if they weren't back, and weren't reachable, they'd definitely come looking for them then.

And hopefully he'd have found Emily long before that happened.

Hotch had gotten distracted for a moment thinking about what to do next. And suddenly he realized he'd been staring down the staircase with his back turned to the open corridor for almost a minute. He froze, listening for a moment. There was a rustling and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

He was no longer alone.

STUPID! STUPID! STUPID!

His heart rate went through the roof and he spun around just in time for his flashlight beam to catch on the shiny metal of the axe blade swinging at his head.

* * *

_A/N 2: Ooh! Two cliffhangers in a row! _

_The hospital I mention here, and the counties in New Jersey, all exist. But I wasn't producing a documentary so I didn't research like layout of the hospital campus or anything like that. It was just used as 'inspiration.' In fact in my head I'm actually picturing a few different abandoned psychiatric hospitals I've seen in movies and on TV. Specifically that one in Session 9, which was filmed, in part, at an abandoned hospital in Massachusetts is prominently featured in my imagination. The stats though on the miles of tunnels beneath this hospital, and the alleged 10,000 people that died there are true. _

_Total side note, Session 9, one of the scariest fricking movies I've ever seen. So if you're into 'creepy' horror movies, and abandoned mental hospitals also give you the willies, check that one out._

_The next bit is written. I'm thinking this might go a couple chapters longer than I had planned. Not wicked long but I've never written a story like this before. Something with a continuous flow where you're trying to keep the suspense, so I have to find a good scene break. Which means smaller chapters perhaps._

_Again, feedback folks. It's a lovely thing. Especially here because I'm totally outside my comfort zone right now.  
_


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: I'm really glad so many people are enjoying this one :) Like I said, never did anything like this before. It's fun, but it is kinda creepy writing it though. It's 'okay' as I'm doing the initial draft, but as I go back to clean things up, I have to fall into the scene, and I think it's probably even worse for me than it is for you guys. Because I know EXACTLY what everything looks like. My imagination has already painted the picture, I just have to go back and fill in the brush strokes for you guys. And I don't always put in everything for you guys that I can see. Sometimes my brain's a scary place :)

There's a notable bit of cursing in here. But it's not really a situation where you'd be saying 'oh gosh' or 'shoot.' It's sort of an intense life or death thing. So there's a lot of praying and swearing.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Emily opened her eyes and for a moment she could see nothing but blackness.

The panic started to rise up and she was just about to call out for Hotch . . . but then she remembered . . . Hotch was gone.

Her eyes immediately filled with tears but she quickly blinked them away. If she started crying she might not stop.

She knew hysteria was just a stone's throw away. And if she lost it, she knew, there was no way she was getting out of here alive.

Fortunately just then her vision started to adjust and she realized there were darker and lighter shades of black. She couldn't actually see anything, not shapes, but somehow . . . and then she saw it . . . up high, on the opposite side of the room . . . a small rectangle.

It was a window.

Maybe 2 inches by 6 inches, covered in bars and apparently it was boarded up on the outside. But there were a few cracks in the wood which were allowing a faint bit of fading grey sunlight into the dark space. Not enough for her to distinguish anything beyond the shape of that small grated window, but at least enough to keep her sanity.

Next to her life . . . and Hotch . . . her sanity was the one other thing she was hoping to leave with tonight.

As her brain started to settle, she tried to figure out what was going on. She'd been dragged away from Hotch, losing her pistol and her flashlight during the abduction. And she knew a cloth had been put over her face a moment later, knocking her out.

But that's all she knew. Well, that, and that she was scared shitless at the moment.

Though she was trying desperately to ignore that sensation. Fear was not her friend. Fear was going to get her killed. She needed to be sharp and think rationally. Fear was only good for fight or flight and at present neither of those were an option. No at present, she needed to focus on the matter at hand, getting out of this room and back to Hotch.

The longer they were separated the harder it was going to be to keep her shit together. This was pretty much her worst nightmare. She was alone, in the dark, in the middle of an abandoned mental hospital with a serial killer roaming the halls.

Yeah . . . she bit her lip as her eyes stung . . . it really didn't get much worse than that.

At the moment though, it was quiet all around her. She could still hear the creaks and moans of the building but her instincts told her that she was in a fairly small contained space, it was blocking out most of the outside noise that they had heard in the main hallways.

Her brow wrinkled, maybe it was one of the patient rooms. Those would probably be padded and muffle the noise. But what was important, what she was thanking God for, was that she appeared to be alone. And the space seemed small enough that she was fairly certain she would have sensed another person. Also, she wasn't in any pain so she was still, hopefully, in good physical shape.

She slowly did a personal welfare check. Her head was a little achy from whatever he'd doused her with, but it wasn't bad. And her hands and feet were bound in front of her. But she could feel . . . on her hands at least . . . it was just cloth wrappings.

Thank you God! She could use her teeth.

She lifted her hands up, or tried to anyway, they stopped halfway up her chest. And that's when she felt the tug down below.

Her wrist bindings were connected to the ones on her ankles.

SHIT!

Obviously that would have been too easy. If she'd been snatched by who she thought she'd been snatched by this was one sick fuck. One sick fuck who'd had the last fourteen years to perfect his skills on hunting human prey. So even if she was an opportunistic snatch and grab, he still would have at least known how to restrain her until he came back.

Oh God.

A horrible thought popped into her head. If he left that meant he was going back for Hotch!

Divide and conquer.

She swallowed . . . Hotch was going to be distracted now worrying about her. Looking for her. She knew him. He wouldn't leave her here. His guard wasn't going to be up like it should be. Not to mention that even with the two of them together Watts had still managed to get the jump on them. He clearly knew this place like the back of his hand. He was here for over twenty years. And people might joke that Hotch was Superman but he wouldn't have a chance by himself. Not wandering around in the pitch black with only half of his attention on his own safety. Watts could sneak up behind him and then . . . oh God.

She felt sick.

Shaking her head she tried to push down the panic that was clawing up and the bile that was coming with it. She zeroed in on what was important about that revelation. She now needed to get out of here not just so she didn't end up getting chopped into little pieces but also, so Hotch didn't either.

So what was she going to do?

Her hands and feet were tied together, but was _she_ tied to anything else? She could feel a soft wall behind her back. So she figured if could slide herself forward then that meant she wasn't restrained any further.

She tried sliding her butt forward . . . and to her amazement . . . she was able to move!

This was great! This was much better than she could have hoped for. He definitely had been in a hurry when he dumped her. And he also probably assumed she'd most likely be out until he got back. So really, this was just a lucky break, her first all day. And she needed to take advantage now before her luck shifted again.

Now that she knew she could move her body she tried another angle to get the bindings to her mouth.

Trying to ignore thoughts of what could be on the floor, she rolled herself over until she was lying on her side. Then she tried again to lift her arms, hoping this new angle would allow her to stretch further. She felt them go a little higher . . . but still out of reach.

Okay . . . she chewed her lip . . . she wasn't going to get discouraged. New approach. She can't get her head any lower, how could she get hands higher?

Raise her legs.

Contorting herself into a slight pretzel shape, she curled her knees up, trying to make herself into a ball. She wasn't as limber as she used to be, not to mention she was so tense her muscles were practically in rigor, but she kept wriggling until her knees had reached her chest. With that position she had enough slack to get her wrists up just a little higher. And when she lowered her head this time her teeth scraped her arm.

She was so relieved she could have wept.

But she didn't have time for relief. She knew her time was short so she immediately started chewing at the bindings, gagging the whole time. They must have been old bed linens. The taste was vile, as were the images in her head of what the patients had done on these sheets, but she kept going. She ignored the pain in her back from her awkward position, and the pain in her breasts from having her knees jammed into them. At one point she accidentally bit into her arm. She couldn't see what the hell she was doing and the bite hurt like a bastard. But the coppery taste, as upsetting as it was, at least momentarily took away the taste of the filthy fabric and she took advantage of that respite and dove back in.

Fortunately the fabric appeared to be somewhat rotted and after a few minutes she had one hand free. She ended up pulling back the whole chunk of fabric in her mouth and she had to clamp down on the bile rising up in her throat as she spit out the piece of material.

She didn't want to choke to death with vomit in her throat and a gag in her mouth. A horrible way to die no matter what, but it would have been downright pathetic when she was so close to freedom.

After her mouth was clear she started dry heaving and it took her almost a minute to stop. Another minute she didn't have. The minutes were ticking away. At least five or six had passed since she'd awoken. She knew the nausea was a combination of the filth in her mouth mixing with her jangled nerves and the adrenaline from her fear. It was a biological response.

And she hated herself for it.

Because all she could think of as she tried not to retch, were those old song lyrics . . . _tick tock goes the clock_. He was going to be back soon and she was no better off now than she was when he left her!

Finally her stomach stopped roiling and she was able to concentrate on the other binding. And thank God that even in the dark she could easily feel the knot with her fingers. If she was able to get the first one undone with her teeth, gagging the whole time, she knew she'd make much faster work of this one using her free hand.

And sure enough it was only another minute before she was shaking off the other piece of fabric. Then she ran her hands down her legs, feeling for the knots on her ankles. Once she found them she was completely free in less than thirty seconds.

She quickly pushed herself to her feet, stretching her back and shaking out her arms and legs to get the blood flowing again. She didn't think she'd been unconscious for long. Maybe five or ten minutes, but that combined with the amount of time it took to get free, probably another seven or eight minutes in total, had resulted in her body stiffening up. But overall she didn't seem any worse for wear.

Running her fingers over the bite on her arm she could feel that it was only slightly sticky. That meant there was only a little blood and if it hadn't clotted already, it should soon. She ran her hands over her face and scalp and then up and down her body.

That appeared to be her only wound.

She rolled her eyes slightly, figures she gets snatched by a prolific serial killer and the only marks on her were self inflicted.

But there was no time to think about her idiocy right now. As she'd been actively working on her bindings, she'd set the back of her brain working on next steps. And step one, she raised her vest slightly, slipping her hand underneath and pulling out the Glock Hotch had made her take. She made a mental note to smack a big sloppy kiss on the man the first chance she got. He'd told her to get an ankle holster but when she went down she realized it wasn't going to work with her boots so the sergeant on duty had suggested a crossdraw holster instead. It would be concealed by her vest. And thank Christ for that because if she'd had the ankle holster then Watts would have felt her other weapon when he was binding her ankles and she would have lost it.

And now that she had the gun in her hand, she started to feel a little better. A little more in control. A little less panicky. She knew that sense of control was crap because she'd been holding her pistol when she was snatched the first time, but still, having a Glock in her hand was a hell of a lot better than sitting on the ground like a trussed turkey waiting to get carved up. And given the man who'd done the trussing, that wasn't just an empty metaphor.

Her skin began to crawl as she thought about what he would have done to her if he'd come back with her still in that position. Yeah, so much for the sense of control lasting more than a millisecond.

Feeling her nerves start to get taut again, she moved onto the next step in her plan, feeling around in her pocket for her keys. They jingled slightly as she pulled them out.

She immediately froze.

Up until then she'd been almost silent. Well, with the exception of the gagging, but that was relatively quiet, and wasn't necessarily indicative of an escape attempt.

Keys jangling were indicative of escape.

After holding for another moment, she was relatively sure that she hadn't drawn any attention with her last action. So she carefully moved the hand holding her keys over to the one holding her gun. Holding her palm out flat she felt along with her other thumb until she found what she wanted.

Her mini Mag light.

Another item she was also carrying courtesy of Hotch. It was an extra Christmas gift. He'd taped them to everyone's presents like anyone else would a candy cane. He even gave one to Garcia. He said they might come in handy some day. She knew he meant on the job. But she'd actually used it pretty regularly when she was digging in her purse. This was the first time she'd needed it on duty.

So thanks to Hotch she still had a gun and a light. Forget the smack on the lips, he was _totally_ getting some tongue action when this was all over!

And just the thought of Hotch's reaction to her French kissing him was enough to lighten her heart for just a moment. And she needed that slight moment of levity for her sanity because there really wasn't one funny, FUCKING, thing about her situation! Because just _thinking_ about the third step in her plan sent her pulse racing and made her eyes start to burn again.

Now she had to walk six feet and open the dirty white padded door that she could now easily see in front of her.

She had to go back out into the hall because Hotch needed her. But right now she was safe in here. She had a gun and a light. And she could see, as she had just run the beam over the room, that there was only the one entry point. She could stay here and wait for the cavalry. They'd be looking for them . . . she put her watch in front of the light . . . in another seventy-five minutes or so. God knows how long it would actually take them to find her, but the point was, she was in a defensible location right now. But the moment she walked out the door she was once again vulnerable . . . once again prey.

But she needed to think of Hotch. He was her partner . . . the tears pooled . . . her friend. And she knew, as well as she knew her own name, that he would never leave her to save himself. So he was wandering out in the dark looking for her.

And she needed to find him before Watts did.

That last thought, that thought of what Watts would do to him, was enough to get her moving. She quickly slid the Mag light off of her key chain, quietly shoving her keys back into her pocket. Then she slid the safety off of her Glock . . . and then she froze, her head cocked to the side.

Was that a scream?

It was faint but it hadn't sounded like a noise from the building. It sounded human.

And it sounded like it was in pain.

Her adrenaline shot through the roof again. Her eyes began to well up once more . . . please God, let him be okay. She just wanted that sound to be her imagination.

But she knew it wasn't.

That was a scream. And Hotch would never scream if he was scared. Never.

But if he was being tortured . . .

She started to feel the dry heaves coming on again and she took two quick sharp breaths, clamping them down as she screamed in her head, berating herself.

NO MORE FUCKING AROUND EMILY! YOU HAVE TO GO!

Swallowing hard she moved over to the door. And just before she put her hand on the doorknob she did something she hadn't done since she was fifteen.

Made the sign of the cross.

Strangely enough she didn't feel like a hypocrite. There are no atheists in the foxhole. And she was definitely down in the trenches right now.

Feeling her heart rate accelerate, if she didn't have a heart attack tonight that would be a miracle, she reached for the knob, having a moment of panic when she thought it was locked.

She had just turned it the wrong way. Trying to calm her nerves again she slowly turned the knob to the left and pushed the door open, it creaked back.

No shades of black out here. Just pitch.

Her mini Mag threw a much smaller beam than her regular one so her field of vision was dramatically reduced. But one thing she knew, she wasn't stepping a foot into the hall until she'd at least checked as much space around her as she could. But unfortunately this sized Mag was not intended to be used like a kerosene lamp. And the beam only covered a four foot span. Her breath caught.

Five feet.

Somebody could be standing five feet away from her and she wouldn't even know it. Watts could be standing there right now watching her. Waiting for her to step clear of the doorway and then . . . she bit her lip clean through as she finished that thought. But feeling the droplet of blood hit her tongue sharpened her senses again. And she tried to talk herself down from the brink of complete hysteria.

Just calm down! Five feet isn't a lunge worthy distance. You can still jump back Em. Just focus on the four feet you can see. That's your immediate danger zone. Anyone gets in that circle with you and you're fucked.

Taking a breath she tried to focus on the danger zone. On what was just in front of her. Immediately across the hall was another room, a cell probably. The door looked like a regular room door but there was a huge slide lock on the front. It was rusted over completely. That was probably the condition of her door lock as well, which was the only reason she hadn't been trapped in there.

Thank God for the oxidation of metal. That was a prayer she never thought she'd send up.

Her beam quickly scanned right . . . nothing . . . and then left . . . her field of vision was obstructed.

That was the side where the door was still ajar. She pushed it back a bit more until it bumped the wall. She couldn't see anything there either. The beam penetrated enough of the shadows though that she was fairly certain that there was another cell door diagonally opposite hers. She couldn't actually see it, it was just a feeling. But it made sense. This was probably a ward. And given that the opposite wall was within the three foot range of her flashlight beam, it was probably one of the original wards. Back when they were crammed together like sardines. What was that old movie?

Bedlam.

Yeah, like that. People living in dirt and filth and screaming at all hours. She shivered. Then she shook her head . . . why was she thinking about fictional horror movies when she was presently starring in her own real life one?

It was so easy to lose focus when all you wanted to be was anywhere but where you were. Any escape from reality was a welcome one.

But she couldn't escape. Her reality needed to be dealt with and it needed to be dealt with NOW. Because it had been well over a minute since she'd heard that horrible scream. And if that was Hotch then he was hurt and he needed her. So it was time to cowboy up and just do this.

She stepped into the hallway and then stopped, realizing she had no idea which way to go.

Shit!

There was no real way to tell where the scream came from, the door was still shut then and it had been too muffled. And beyond having that focal point she didn't know which way was up. Or down as the case maybe. What floor was she even on?

Then a lightning bolt hit her . . . the window!

She wanted to turn around and look at it but she didn't dare take her eyes off of the hall. But the window had light outside. So that meant she was above ground. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Man upstairs. If she'd had to traverse those miles of tunnels by herself she would have been in deep shit. Hotch had a much better sense of direction than she did. By herself she probably would have gotten hopelessly lost in a matter of minutes.

Not to mention, and this was the little voice in the back of her head, those tunnels were supposed to be haunted. Hell the whole damn place was supposed to be haunted but the tunnels had the worst reputation. And though she'd ordinarily scoff at such things, at the moment, nothing seemed farfetched or ridiculous. She and Hotch had just fallen into a live action version of The Most Dangerous Game with one of the most prolific serials they'd ever seen. What was more ridiculous than that? They were usually the big game hunters, tracking the predators. And now the predator was tracking them.

Shaking her head of that thought she tried to plan her route.

Now that she knew at least enough to know she was above ground, she felt a little better about picking a direction. They'd looked at the specs for the ground level. There was a wing of patient rooms on the same floor that she and Hotch had been on when she was taken. Unfortunately though they were pretty far away from him, she couldn't just yell.

She wrinkled her brow . . . or maybe she could. If that was a scream she'd heard. If that was _him_, then maybe if she yelled back he'd hear her.

He'd know she was coming for him.

Of course she'd also be alerting Watts to her location. That she was free. But as she thought about it she realized that was actually a good thing. Because they were beyond hide and seek. If he had Hotch, if he was HURTING Hotch, then she needed to lure him away. If he came after her then he'd leave Hotch alone.

The logic was sound. Her head agreed, as did her heart. And still she felt like she was making a terrible mistake. But she ignored that little voice. Telling herself it was just self preservation. And that selfish bitch could shut up and rot. She needed to save Hotch. So, she took a deep breath and yelled out, as loud as she could.

"HOTCH! I'M COMING! HANG ON! I'LL BE THERE SOON."

She waited for a moment, seeing if there would be a response, but there was nothing. She hadn't really expected one. That would have been too much to hope for. And now she had alerted Watts to her presence. That she was back in the game. It had been a deliberate choice and yet she still felt a cold stab of fear in her stomach as she stepped into the hall, quickly running her light in the circle again before turning left. She went left because Hotch always covered left and at the moment it was as good a reason as any other to go that way.

The skin on the back of her neck was crawling as she walked down the center of the corridor. Running her small light in front of her, she could clearly see that she was indeed in a patient wing. The same filthy, cracked tile floors and peeling green paint were here as had been in the other part of the building.

Though . . . there were symbols drawn on the walls down here. All done in red or brown paint. Some were pentagrams, the others she didn't recognize. And she knew that they were probably just the work of drunken teenagers. But they were seriously upsetting her out right now.

Because they looked fresh.

And what she had originally thought was paint . . . she was starting to see actually looked a lot like blood. But even if it was, there was no point in stopping to check them out. This wasn't an investigation right now. This was pure survival. So she tried to just ignore them. Hoping this corridor would end soon and she could stop looking at them. Though she was afraid they were already burned onto her retinas.

She wanted to run, just full press down the hall, but she didn't want to slam smack dab into anyone.

Or anything.

Not to mention, with her blood pounding in her ears she wouldn't be able to hear someone coming up behind her. So running was out, and ordinarily she'd be hugging the wall, trying to keep one eye behind her. But there were cell doors on both sides of the corridor.

Most of them were shut . . . but some of them were open.

And those open doors made her blood run cold. She could hear movement in many of them, presumably rats, hopefully rats. Either way she hurried past each one of them, moving to the other side of the corridor, and then quickly moving back to center once she was cleared. Every few seconds she quickly jerked her head over her shoulder to make sure nobody was coming up behind her. She kept hearing noises. What she thought were footsteps. But she didn't see anyone. But really she only had a 4 foot square of light so what the hell did she think she was going to see?

She had never felt so utterly alone or terrified in her entire life.

And all she wanted in the world right now was to see Hotch again. To hug him. That was her only wish. Because if she achieved that goal that meant her two fervent hopes, that they BOTH get out of this alive, had come true.

Her eyes widened, she felt a breeze.

She'd just arrived at her first crossway. After spinning around with her flashlight, making sure she was still alone, she stopped for a moment, right in the center of the intersecting corridors. It was an open space, at least 6 feet by 5 feet. There was less chance of somebody sneaking up on her here. She was trying to mentally call up those blueprints Garcia had sent them. It appeared that she had reached the main building again. The one she and Hotch had been in before she was taken.

A faint smile touched her lips, going left . . . going Hotch's way . . . had brought her back out.

Her brow furrowed, but they had been on the other side. At least she was pretty sure they were.

Yeah . . . she nodded to herself . . . this building only had patient rooms on one side. Mostly it was administration and common areas on this floor.

Suddenly she froze as she heard her name being called.

"Emily."

Her heart skipped a beat. The voice was faint, it came from a bit of a distance, but it was clearly her name.

It had to be Hotch! He'd heard her call out for him. He was still alive!

For a moment she was filled with joy . . . and then . . . her blood ran cold, every hair stood on end, and the tears began to pool in her eyes.

She'd just heard her name again.

It was a whisper, but the second time it came from right behind her. She'd heard it clear as day.

And that wasn't Hotch's voice.

* * *

_A/N 2: Yes, I know, I'm a terrible person for continuing to torture you with cliff hangers. But there's really no other way to tell this story. What am I going to do? End the scene with somebody stopping for a power bar and a sports drink? Ooh scary!_

_When I had Emily call out, all I could when I reread it was that scene in Blair Witch "TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE JOSH!" I actually didn't find that movie particularly scary, the characters were just way too annoying (in my opinion) to 'connect' with them but I did like the ending quite a bit. At the house. Now THAT was creepy!_

_If you're paying close attention you might have picked up on some 'inconsistencies' between Hotch's logical presumption about Emily's condition and location, and Emily's actual condition and location. Hmm, any thoughts on that?_

_I have Hotch 'going left' because TG is a lefty and you're supposed to subconsciously move in the direction of your dominant hand. I'm also a lefty and I suppose I should start paying attention to see if that's actually true._

_If you'd like to see a picture of the hospital that I have in my head, (it's creepy as hell,) you can go to this link. Just take out the spaces obviously :) This is the Danvers State Mental Hospital in Danvers, Massachusetts. It's where they filmed that Session 9 movie. Picture Hotch and Emily went in that front door and straight back. Emily was off in that side wing closer to the camera angle. _

www . themorningnews . org / archives / galleries / ghostly_ruins /

_Barring the dish running away with the spoon, I'm thinking one or two more chapters and an epilogue. But if the dish runs off, it might go a bit longer._

_Loving the feedback :)_


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Would you like to find out if I messed up Hotch's pretty face? Read on!

And again, swearing. And this one's a little icky. Actually it's kind of a lot icky. I think I may have to change the rating.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

As Hotch saw the bloodied blade swinging at his head he had but one screaming thought.

**FUCK!**

But fortunately he was so startled that he fell backwards, tumbling down the stairs, and with an "oomph" crashed onto the first landing. His flashlight and his gun both went flying out of his hands, he could hear them clattering down the next set of stairs.

He was once again thrown into darkness, but as he heard the whoosh of someone rushing down the steps, he immediately rolled left. A second later he heard the distinctive "thwack" of an axe blade smashing into wood.

Most likely that blade had just imbedded itself into the spot right where Hotch's head had been a split second earlier. But he didn't stop to think about that, he just rolled again.

Feeling the ground about to fall away from him once more . . . the next staircase . . . he put his hand out, stopping just in time. He leapt up, simultaneously pulling his Mag light from his vest and immediately struck down hard in the general vicinity of what he hoped was his attacker's head. If the blade had caught in the wood, which it sounded like it had, Watts would be slightly bent over pulling it out.

And when he heard a satisfying crack as his improvised billy club made direct contact with what sounded like a human skull, Hotch presumed his theory was correct.

Fumbling for a moment, Hotch's fingers slid back and he hit the button on his flashlight, hoping to see Darren Watts splayed on the ground knocked cold. But that's when Hotch found out his flashlight did not survive the impact with what he assumed was Darren's skull.

The flashlight was dead.

FUCK!

Hotch stood motionless for a moment, holding the Mag in his hand like a club. He needed to pull his other gun, but that meant stooping down, and he couldn't see how badly injured Watts was. Hotch had fallen down the stairs and he had enough adrenaline in his body to keep right on moving. And given their life and death struggle, Watts was going to be just as amped up as he was right now.

For as much strength as Hotch had put into that blow, it was possible Watts had only been slightly stunned. He could be playing possum, waiting for Hotch to move so that he could take another swing with that bloodied axe of his.

If Watts was swinging from the ground, Hotch's hands and head would be perfectly . . . suddenly a thought permeated his brain and his eyes widened in horror.

BLOODIED. OH GOD!

There was blood on the axe.

He felt grief rip through his chest.

EMILY!

Oh Jesus! Even if she wasn't dead she had to be horribly injured. Suddenly a dozen color photos of Watts' crimes flashed through his head.

Bodies mutilated . . . limbs missing.

His stomach flipped for the third time in fifteen minutes and his eyes burned with unshed tears as he pictured her agony.

But then his grief, his fears for her life and his safety, they were all pushed aside as he was filled with a blinding rage.

THIS FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT HAD HURT HER!

And before rational thought or self preservation could reassert themselves, he was once again stepping forward, pulling back his flashlight to strike when suddenly he heard a voice.

"Help me. Please . . . help me."

It was faint . . . coming from below him. But it was a woman . . . and she was crying.

Emily.

All thoughts of revenge left him. It had to be Emily. He turned, grasping blindly for the railing as he put his foot down, feeling for the step. Once he had one foot balanced he just went full tilt, praying he didn't lose his footing. The danger behind him was momentarily forgotten, all he could think of was her.

She was hurt. And she needed him.

In his haste to get to her he tripped, falling down the last half dozen steps, landing on hard concrete. And even though the fall was shorter probably by half than the one he had taken above, the floor was much less forgiving.

Hundred year old wood at least had some give. Concrete did not.

And this time he hit his head, and for a moment he lay stunned, trying to focus. Trying desperately not to pass out. Blinking frantically he suddenly realized there was a beam of light not far behind him.

His flashlight.

This one was still working. It must have just rolled down the stairs.

Turning over on his stomach, he crawled the few feet and grasped the smooth metal like a drowning man would a life preserver.

It was a life preserver. This light was probably the only chance they had.

As soon as the flashlight was in his hand he rolled onto his back, fear clenching his stomach as he suddenly remembered the danger still above him.

The man with the bloody axe that he'd just turned his back on.

He couldn't see the landing from where he was on the ground. This flight of stairs had probably 16 steps going up at a steep angle, and the flashlight beam shot over the landing to the wall above. His eyes widened in terror.

There was a bloody handprint marring that sickening green paint.

That new shot of fear crystallized his thoughts, reminding him that he was still holding two flashlights and no gun. He dropped the broken light on the ground and pulled his second weapon from his ankle holster. Keeping his eyes, and his light, locked on the stairwell, he pushed himself up to his knees and then to his feet.

He still wasn't at an angle to see the landing properly. It was just too steep. But he could now see enough to know Watts wasn't standing there. His medical records said he was 6 ft 3 in. It wasn't possible to miss a figure that tall if he was vertical.

Chewing his lip, Hotch stared at that empty space. Maybe he was really was knocked unconscious. Maybe he wasn't faking. He probably wasn't dead though. It seemed unlikely in the extreme that a lucky shot in the dark would have been enough to launch an immediately fatal blow.

Yet . . . he wasn't standing there. Why wouldn't he have gotten up by now?

It was obvious Watts had the advantage in the dark. Either his eyes had completely adjusted, which would be hard to believe given how precise his attacks were, or he wore night vision goggles. That was the more likely, and the more frightening, explanation.

But either way, when Hotch had fallen again Watts could have taken another run at him from the stairs. With his slower recovery time there was a good chance Watts would have seriously wounded, if not killed him instantly, with a blow from the axe. Yet Watts hadn't done that, so all signs _were_ pointing to him being unconscious.

Hotch was once again torn.

Should he continue on ahead to find Emily? Or should he take advantage of perhaps the luckiest break imaginable and go back up and put a bullet in the back of Darren Watts' brain?

There was no doubt in Hotch's mind Watts had to die. Because whatever he had done to Emily . . . Hotch felt the icy tips of fear running down his spine again . . . even if she lived, no prison term was going to be sufficient punishment for that crime.

And then he started thinking with his brain and not his heart.

What if Emily was bleeding to death? What if she only had a few minutes? He couldn't indulge in revenge now. That was for later. After he found her and got her medical attention. Decision made, he started to turn into the the tunnels when he froze as suddenly another horrible scenario leaped into his head.

What if he went looking for her and Watts got the jump on him again?

Surviving the first time was pure luck. That kind of luck didn't last. Not when your opponent had an axe, could move silently in the dark and apparently could see without the aid of anything so mundane as a flashlight. And if he got killed, Emily, no matter what her condition now, would be completely at Watts' mercy.

The muscles in his neck once again locked into place.

Watts could torture her for hours. Slowly taking off pieces of her one by . . . OH CHRIST!

Whipping his head to the side, Hotch managed to splatter the vomit on the ground and not down the front of his vest.

As he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth he knew, he had to go back up and make sure he was dead. It would just take a minute. And Watts had an axe, not a gun.

Though . . . Hotch had a terrible realization . . . he didn't know what the hell had happened to his sig!

It had gone flying with his flashlight. Hopefully it had also clattered onto the lower set of stairs, or the concrete, but Hotch had been too busy trying to not get his head split open to listen to the specifics of ambient noise around him.

Speaking of noise . . . he spun around as he heard a loud bang in the darkness behind him. And then footsteps running.

What the FUCK . . . ?

His heart racing, Hotch spun back and forth between the shadows behind him and the shadows above him. He didn't see how it was possible that Watts had gotten off the landing, circled back around to the staircase in the NE corner, and somehow managed to sneak up behind him again.

There was no way that was possible . . . was it?

It couldn't be. Just the time factor alone. Even at a full run, even knowing exactly where you were going, with the size of this building, that would take at least 6 or 7 minutes. And Hotch had only been down here for 2 or 3 minutes tops. He hadn't passed out and he'd heard no movement from the landing above.

But then the little voice in his head reminded him . . . he hadn't heard any movement _before_ either.

Watts came and went like a ghost. He struck and he disappeared with Emily in an instant. Why not again? And it would explain why Hotch still couldn't see him on the landing.

Either way though . . . the fear started to spike again . . . there was definitely somebody else down here with him. Someone besides Emily. She was probably grievously wounded so she wouldn't be able to run. And if she had been well enough to run she would have called out for help again.

He stood there, heart racing, trying to decide whether to go up or down. If it _wasn't_ Watts down in the tunnels, it would appear he now had threats in both directions. His jaw twitched.

Fuck it.

He'd risk the danger of the missing sig. He'd go up now, hopefully take out Watts and then move on to finding Emily. That was still his primary focus here. Emily. Finding her and getting her out of here.

That's all that mattered.

After quickly his running his light over the inky blackness behind him, he started to turn back to the staircase when he saw something glistening.

His heart ached . . . it was a huge pool of blood.

He'd missed it before because the color was so dark. But he could now easily see not only the puddle, but that there were drag marks leading from it, disappearing around the corner. And he knew . . . with that much blood loss . . . she wouldn't survive much longer.

He felt a burst of self loathing.

THAT'S WHY IT'S TIME TO STOP FUCKING AROUND AARON! SHE NEEDS YOU. JUST RUN UP CHECK THE LANDING AND THEN GO **FIND** HER!

Rage once again building, every muscle was taut as he turned back to the staircase, Glock and Mag locked together in front of him. Ignoring the tactical knowledge that this was an idiotic idea, Hotch started up the stairs. He knew that in a gun battle Watts had the advantage right now because Watts was in the elevated position. But Hotch just had to get close enough to see him, not touch him. That was the difference here.

That was why bullet beat axe every day of the week.

Halfway up the lower staircase Hotch saw two things he'd missed before. One was his sig, dangling off the 7th step up.

God, he'd never been so happy to see his gun before!

It was an awkward move but he somehow managed to shove the flashlight under his arm for a moment as he snatched up his other weapon, shoving it into his waistband. All the while never letting his gaze falter from the landing. He was almost close enough to see over the top step.

Switching the light back to his hand he started up the stairs again . . . and that's when he saw the smears of blood. He'd been following the droplets to the staircase and they'd clearly continued down. But his first trip down the stairs had been in the pitch black.

But apparently she'd been bleeding for awhile, perhaps trying to get away and then Watts caught her at the bottom before he . . . a few images flashed in his head and the extra burst of rage that resulted tightened his focus and he ran the next 5 steps.

And then he stopped, 4 steps shy of the landing as his heart pounded.

He _was_ gone. Hotch's beam flashed along the upper set of stairs . . . long gone. That _had_ to be him Hotch heard in the tunnels. As much as that fucking SUCKED that he'd gotten ahead of him again, the one positive was that Hotch still just had the one threat to deal with.

Hearing footsteps right below him Hotch spun back around again, this time there was no indecision. He was too angry.

Enough of this cat and mouse BULLSHIT! He didn't like being fucked with.

Hugging the wall, he hurried back down the stairs again, moving over to the center of the staircase only when he'd reached the third step from the bottom. There was a blind corner on that side. The one with the blood trail.

Jaw clenched he stepped back onto the concrete, swinging his beam in all directions as he listened intently for any noise.

He heard nothing and he saw nothing. His eyes dropped down to the pool of blood that was starting to congeal, and he once again pushed down the grief that tried to well up. Telling himself that she might not be dead yet. There could still be time to save her.

He started walking, hurrying along as fast as he could. He wanted to run, to find her immediately, but he'd just heard those footsteps and Watts was loose again. Which meant he could be anywhere, including directly up in front of him.

He didn't want to run at full speed down a black hallway straight into a man with an axe. Again, he was of no use to Emily if he was dead. But as he followed the smeared blood on the ground, his hopes for finding her alive diminished more with each step.

The human body held approximately 5 liters of blood. If Reid was here he'd be able to tell him exactly how much had been spilled so far. But Hotch had been doing this for a long time and he knew . . . it was just too much. And he'd been walking for so long, at least 5 minutes, that the thick drag marks he'd seen initially had started to taper. Now they were becoming just drying brown streaks.

His eyes began to burn . . . she was almost completely bled out.

Afraid he would lose all hope if he continued to stare at the crimson patterns he blinked away the tears trying to focus instead on where he was in relation to the rest of the building. He was obviously in the basement tunnels. Rather than the peeling green paint he'd seen upstairs, these walls down here were a grey brick. Most likely the brick had been painted white at one point, but that was long ago.

They'd closely studied the plans for the first floor and the section of the tunnels directly beneath the administration section of the building. That was where the record room was supposed to be. And just in case they took a wrong turn, Hotch had wanted to know landmarks to watch out for so that they wouldn't wander too far off path. And regardless of how far he traveled, he was relatively sure he was still on the blueprints because they wouldn't have bothered painting down here unless this was a part of the tunnels used by the staff.

So as he looked around now, judging the distance he had walked, if his memory served, it appeared he should be in the general vicinity of the hydrotherapy rooms.

Hotch had advanced psych training and he knew the hydrotherapy they practiced here had nothing to do with the benign and therapeutic uses modern medicine used it for today. No, back when this place was built submersion in cold water was intended to drive the fevered demons from the bodies of the wretched souls that were housed here.

It was no better than the practices of the middle ages where women were drowned as witches.

He stopped.

His flashlight beam had just caught on a sign sticking out from an open door that did indeed indicate he had just reached the hydrotherapy area. But then he saw something else.

Another blood trail . . . this one quite fresh . . . and this one coming from the other direction of the hall. Both trails converged at the open doorway.

A second blood trail would mean a second body. Somebody else that Watts had taken. That hadn't occurred to him before. That there would be other victims here. For a moment he started to feel hope trying to reassert itself.

Maybe this wasn't Emily's blood he'd been following all this time.

But then he remembered . . . her gun. The blood trail had started near her gun. What were the odds that was just a coincidence? He wanted it to be a coincidence, a horrible coincidence, because then there was a possibility that she was still okay.

That he hadn't completely failed her.

His eyes dropped back down to the other trail of blood. The fresh one. And he saw something that doused his hopes almost completely.

Stooping down he pulled a clump of long dark brown hair from the streak of gore. He felt an ache in his gut as his eyes filled once more.

How many coincidences could there be? What were the odds that he and Emily had wandered into this building when Watts had TWO other live victims? And that one of them had long brown hair just like Emily.

The grief welled up as he bit down hard on his lip . . . the odds on that were not good at all.

Dropping the hair back to the ground, the tears began to pool as he directed his beam of light through the open door. It was a wide open space, cracked filthy tiles, an overturned gurney in the corner and trash littered the ground.

He suddenly froze as he focused in on just the large tubs and the tile floors.

The nausea began to build once more as he suddenly had a very clear picture in his mind of what Watts would use this room for, why he would drag the bodies here.

Dismemberment.

He prayed . . . please God no. Please don't let her be here.

Even with his growing fear and horror over the near certainty that Emily was dead, the part of his brain responsible for self preservation had the presence of mind to do a quick check behind him before he stepped through the door.

But when he turned back his eyes were glued to the overlapping streaks of gore. His beam following them as they led to first one and then the other of the two hydrotherapy tubs in the room.

He slowly ran his beam along and up the side of the first tub, knowing he needed to go over there. He hated himself for being a coward but he just couldn't accept that it could be true. That she could be gone. This was Emily. She was sweet and kind and funny and full of life. And she did not deserve to die like this. Alone and terrified down in the dark. The tears began to run down his face as he wondered if she'd screamed for him to help her and he'd never come.

A sob tried to rise up but he took a breath, cutting it off. Knowing that torturing himself with what ifs was of no use right now, he wiped his hand across his face as he mustered up what little intestinal fortitude he had left. Swallowing hard, he walked closer, seeing that the tub was filled to the top.

The water was red.

And he knew that there was something in there but he couldn't see it clearly. Wishing there was some other way, any other way, he tucked the flashlight under his arm and rolled his sleeve up. He took one more breath and then reached in.

As the worst moments in his life ranked, this was now skyrocketing to number one. The tub was deep and it took him a moment but then he grimaced as he felt a body part, he tugged, and as the crimson water splashed over the side a torso came to the surface.

Male. It was a man!

Stumbling back he rubbed his hand and arm frantically on his pants. Ordinarily he would wonder who that was and if he had a family that was missing him. But at the moment he didn't give a shit. Right now it was all about taking care of his own. And all that mattered was that it wasn't Emily.

His eyes snapped across the room, just one more tub to check.

Carefully avoiding the pool of bloody water which was now running across the tile floor, he headed over to the other tub. He stood there for a moment, remembering her at the precinct, smiling as she gently teased Reid about his impromptu lecture on the history of the Appalachian Trail. If she was really dead, that's how Hotch wanted to remember her. He stared into the bloody water as another tear leaked down his cheek . . . not like this. But he needed proof, one way or the other.

Taking a breath he tucked the flashlight back under his arm as he reached in once more. Tears began to run freely down his face as he felt a head, it had long hair. He pulled it up, his gut churning as he began to sob. The face was cut off but he knew it was a woman, and he could see the hair.

It was long, and it was dark . . . and there were bangs.

* * *

_A/N 2: Hmm, now I'm sure when you started this chapter you knew that Hotch was totally chasing the wrong blood trail. But THEN, he found that fresh one coming from the other direction, and Em wasn't in a good place the last time we saw her. But would I REALLY kill Emily in such a horrific fashion? It doesn't SOUND like me. Unfortunately, you're going to have to wait another day to find out for sure that I'm not a heartless bitch. Luckily though, I can promise the next chapter will be up tomorrow. I wrote half of this one, then the first half of the next one, then went back to this one, and THEN skipped all the way to the very end and wrote half of that! I was getting a little concerned that I'd paint myself into a corner so I had to figure out the end game. I'm happy to say that there is one!_

_I took the extra day to watch that Session 9 movie again. I needed to get a visual on the hospital layout and I got a few ideas on stuff to add in. One was the hydrotherapy room. And they do have those massive tubs in them. Something else popped out at me too and that will be in the next chapter._

_Feel free to throw out any theories you may have as to what's happening here! _


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note**: The dish did indeed run away with the spoon. Hence no post yesterday. But you will at least now find out if Emily still has a face! That's something!

And this chapter is probably twice as long as it would have been otherwise. I'm a little behind on my reviews but thanks everyone! And you have some very interesting theories :) You'll have to keep reading to see if any of them are matching up with what's going on here!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Someone was standing behind her. Someone who had come up out of the darkness behind her. Someone who somehow knew her name was Emily. And without a doubt, she knew . . . it wasn't Hotch.

A tear ran down her cheek.

Too much had happened. She was reaching her breaking point. And Emily had no doubt that if she turned around and saw who she thought she'd see . . . she was going to lose her mind. So instead she did what she'd wanted to do for the past five minutes.

She ran.

Fight or flight finally had its opportunity to shine. She'd been facing the side of the corridor opposite the main building so she took off at a dead run, the light bouncing in front her, having no idea where she was going. No part of her higher brain function was in control at that point. She was going purely on instinct.

And instinct said . . . run or die.

Her blood was pounding in her ears, and just as she'd feared, the reason she hadn't run before, she couldn't hear anything behind her.

But she knew he was there, it wasn't her imagination.

Not this time.

So she just kept going, vaguely aware that she had once again entered a patient wing. A different one . . . it was the adjacent corner. There were things on the floor here.

Dolls . . . broken chair legs . . . beer cans . . . trash.

They were all obstacles in her path. Things trying to trip her, slow her down so that Watts could catch up. And when he did . . . she felt another shot of adrenaline hit her system.

She felt like her heart was going to explode but still she kept pushing it, hoping that it wasn't true that you could actually die of fright.

Suddenly her beam flashed on metal grating.

A fence . . . a staircase!

Her beam was so short she only saw it just before she got there. Almost taking a header down the stairs, she managed to catch herself, cursing her clumsiness as she lost precious seconds in forward velocity.

Now she felt he was just playing with her. She could run fast, she knew that, she was in excellent shape, but he had much longer legs, his medical records listed his height at 6'3. And he was a predator by birth, and by trade.

He should be catching up with her by now.

But she pushed that worrisome fear aside as she tried to stop acting purely on instinct. She tried to think again, tried to let her brain come up with some plan. She had a gun, but she didn't trust herself to use it. Guns didn't possess magical powers, you still had to be able to aim and hit your mark. And that was kind of hard to do when your body was vibrating with fear and adrenaline.

So she put aside thoughts of the gun for now as she just kept running down the stairs, taking them two at a time as they twisted around and around. The fence at her side was intended to keep the passengers from jumping to their deaths, at the moment it was probably keeping her from falling to hers.

Finally she reached the bottom, leaping from the third step down, she fell, landing on one knee and quickly pushing herself up as she kept going.

But it was harder now to keep moving. The adrenaline was starting to wear off. Fight or flight was not a sustainable state of being. If it was . . . well, you'd always get away. The instinct for survival was always going to outlast anything else. But the moment your body started to betray you, that's when you were lost.

And she feared that moment was going to arrive soon.

Then she remembered that in that split second she was down on the ground, she hadn't heard anyone coming behind her. That was a bit comforting until she remembered that she hadn't heard anything before either. Not in the hallway with Hotch, not in the hallway upstairs. It was like Watts glided above the ground.

Another stab of fear went through her as the implications of that thought slammed into her brain. Maybe it wasn't Watts . . . maybe it wasn't even a person. Maybe it was . . . something else.

Feeling her sanity take another dip she ruthlessly shoved that thought away. It didn't matter who or what it was.

It was dangerous. That's all that mattered.

As she continued to run, the fence that had lined the staircase continued on but it was now at her left, and she suddenly became cognizant that she was in the tunnels. Beneath the earth. There were miles of them and she was now fenced in one side.

And she knew then that she needed to start making decisions again, real ones, not just panicked ones.

Because though these tunnels might go on for miles, they didn't go on at a straight shot. She was eventually going to hit a dead end and she would be trapped. Whether that was Watts or something else, it wouldn't matter.

She'd have no escape.

Her training started to come back to her. Agent Prentiss started to reassert some control. And Agent Prentiss' decision was to stop running. If she kept up the pace she was going, once the adrenaline left her body completely, pure physical exhaustion was going to start to set in. And when that happened, if she suddenly needed to physically defend herself, she might not have the strength.

And then the Agent Prentiss part of her brain said something else, something that reminded her that she wasn't the only one Watts was stalking.

If Watts had tired of her, if he hadn't felt like chasing her, then he might have gone back to Hotch. Back to doing whatever he was doing that made her boss, the toughest man she'd ever met, scream in agony.

And that visual was enough for her to stop dead right in the middle of the tunnel. Spinning around, her heart pounded, her lungs screamed for air and her eyes searched the darkness behind her.

She was looking for some sign of movement, listening for even the slightest of sounds.

But she heard nothing at all. Not a peep. And that in itself was strangely even more unsettling because there hadn't been a moment in this place where there hadn't been some noise around them. Apparently though, the tunnels muffled the creaks and moans of the building above.

Hearing no immediate danger she stood there for a moment longer, trying to slow her respirations, and then she slowly took two steps back until there was no space between her and the brick wall lining the right side of the tunnel. At least here she could keep an eye both ahead of her and behind her. Because if Watts, (she was sticking with the presumption it was Watts until she had solid reason to believe otherwise,) had given up the chase, he could have doubled around to intersect her up ahead.

That was if he had even been chasing her at all. She never actually heard him beyond that whisper. A shiver went down her spine again just thinking about that voice. Her eyes burned.

It was stupid, even to her own overstressed mind, but the voice had sounded . . . evil. It had a lilting, mocking quality to it. Like it was trying to bore into your brain.

And apparently it had because she couldn't seem to shake it.

Her breathing was mostly back to normal and she took two deep, slow breaths, trying to calm herself completely. She couldn't afford to let that fucking whisper send her completely off the deep end again. There were limits to her physical endurance. She couldn't just keep running like some frightened child. Or worse, some stupid buxom teenager in a cheesy slasher film. She was a grown woman. An FBI agent for Christ's sake. And though, even now, she stood by her decision upstairs to run, she needed to get back to what was important.

Finding Hotch.

And to do that she needed a game plan. She couldn't just expect to run smack dab into him. So she decided to try doing what she did before.

Just call out for him.

There really was no other plan. She had no idea where he was and maybe if she could try the Marco Polo approach, she could narrow down her search.

Watts couldn't be a consideration here. He clearly had just been toying with her. He could find her whenever he chose to. He'd been _right_ behind her. He didn't have to warn her he was there. He could have grabbed her again before she had a chance to move.

No . . . her jaw set . . . he had just wanted to frighten her.

Well FUCK him and his FUCKING games!

She felt some of her anger rise up, it was a welcome change from the fear. Feeling her jaw begin to twitch she nodded firmly to herself.

Fuck him! He was just another fucking piece of shit asshole who got off on torture and death. It was her job to take him down. He just had had the advantage right now. But when she came back with the cavalry she was going to find this FUCK and send his ass right back to whatever hell he came from! All she needed to do in the meantime was to keep him from getting right on top of her. That's it. Of course it was easier said than done, but the sooner she found Hotch, the sooner they could get the fuck out of dodge.

Decision made, anger now driving her, she did what she had done in the patient room earlier. She took a deep breath and yelled as loud as she could.

"HOTCH! I'M COMING! CALL OUT IF YOU CAN HEAR ME!"

/////////

Hotch stared at those bangs, grief rising up.

After everything that had already happened this was too much for him to process. Grief was just about to overwhelm him when his flashlight caught on her hand and his breath caught. Unlike the male victim, this body still appeared to be intact, and when he'd pulled it up, the hand had floated to the surface. And now his eyes widened as he stared at her fingers

The woman's fingernails . . . they were painted red.

Suddenly Hotch's grief morphed to elation.

EMILY WASN'T WEARING NAIL POLISH!

There was no doubt in his mind about that fact. She hardly ever painted her nails so it always caught his eye when she did, and she definitely wasn't wearing polish today.

THIS WASN'T HER! OH THANK YOU **JESUS**, THIS WASN'T HER!

He almost laughed out loud he was so relieved. And then he looked at the missing face of the mutilated corpse in front of him and that sense of elation was brutally crushed.

Yanking his hand back, he looked down to see his arm was covered in gore up past his elbow.

His brain focused with razor sharp intensity. He had two dead bodies in front of him. Two FRESHLY killed dead bodies in front of him. And Emily was still missing. There was no time to waste, he had to get moving again.

Just as Hotch was about to leave he noticed the sink on the other side of the room. Hurrying over, he turned the water on, it sputtered and it was brown but he knew that was just rust.

He did a quick check behind him before tucking the light under his arm again and putting his gun down on the corner of the sink. He rinsed his arm off as fast as he could, scrubbing at the clotted blood stuck to the small hairs on his arm.

As many horrible things that he saw and dealt with on a daily basis, he didn't ordinarily jam his bare hands into the bloodied remains. This was the first . . . and God willing the last . . . time he'd ever have to do that.

He turned off the water, snatched the gun off the tile and ran to the door. Biting his lip he stood for a moment, making his decision on which way to go. The blood trails had both led to the same location. He turned his head left, flashing his light down the portion of the tunnel he'd started from initially.

Just because he'd started there didn't mean he'd covered all the areas he could have covered. There had been a few side rooms that he'd ignored. And these tunnels went on and on, well past the stairwell he'd come down. But he figured he'd already come this far, he might as well keep going forward for now.

Besides . . . he stepped out into the hall, turning right . . . for once he'd go in Emily's direction, maybe it would bring him luck.

As he continued along, for the first time since she'd been taken, he had a kernel of real hope that they might both get out of this alive. Yes, he was still terrified that she could be hurt, or worse, but those were now abstract concerns, not concrete ones.

The difference being he was longer staring at what he thought was four liters of her blood spilled on the ground. Now that he knew the trail he'd followed from her gun was someone else completely, he had no solid reason to believe she'd been injured during her abduction. And given that he'd just come across two recent kills he now realized that he had absolutely NO idea what was going on here. When Emily was first taken Hotch had assumed Watts had just moved into the hospital when he realized the investigation was targeting him.

But now . . . Hotch shook his head . . . it was obvious there was something much bigger at play here.

Perhaps all of those missing people weren't dead yet. Maybe Watts had been keeping them here as playthings. Torturing them and killing them off at his whim. As horrible as that thought was, the upside there, beyond the possibility of maybe being able to save some of them, was that he and Emily were apparently just additional players in the game.

They weren't, as he had been assuming, the _focus_ of the game.

So there was no reason to think that they'd get any more individualized attention than any other of Watts' playthings. The attack on him with the axe was probably opportunistic. And when it appeared Watts was going to have to expend some effort to get him, he had just let Hotch go. Because Watts knew that he could circle around at some other point and try again. The fact that Hotch hadn't run screaming from this place when Emily was taken must have shown him that he wasn't leaving without her.

And to add more evidence to his new theory was the running Hotch had heard and that voice that had called out for help. At the time he had deduced, that no matter how farfetched it was, that it could only have been Watts. But now he was thinking that could have been yet another victim trying to get away.

Because it was clear from the condition of the body he'd just seen, that the dead girl couldn't have been the same girl he'd heard. Because if someone had cut off her face _while_ he was down in the tunnels, Hotch sure as hell would have heard her screaming. And given Watts history, Hotch had no doubt that gruesome act had been perpetrated on a live victim.

So going with his theory that there _were_ others, he just needed to figure out where these people were being held. Because that's where he would find Emily too.

Hotch's steps slowed as he saw that he was coming up to a dividing fence. He flashed his light back and forth. Both sides appeared to go in exactly the same direction except one side was labeled Staff and one side was labeled Patients.

Grinding his jaw he looked back and forth between the two openings before turning around to look at the gaping maw of black tunnel behind him.

Should he keep going or turn around? He really had no idea where Watts would be keeping his victims. Under other circumstances Hotch would assume the patient wings would be the most logical holding area. Except those were all above ground so he wouldn't be guaranteed the privacy he needed.

There was a lot of morbid curiosity built up around this place, especially with the youth around here. Teenagers would get drunk and go looking for a thrill.

Hotch suddenly had another thought. Those teenagers were other potential pools of victims. When they got out he'd have Garcia run the stats on missing persons in Essex County as well. Specifically alleged runaways. He wouldn't be surprised if they eventually found at least a few of the bodies here. He huffed humorlessly to himself. At least he was starting to think towards the future again. Making plans for later when they got back to the world.

Which was great, because that meant at least his gut believed they'd make it out alive.

But he needed to focus on the here and now at the moment. The investigation could wait. Shaking his head he decided to just keep going straight. If these were divided for patient and staff that meant these fences specifically had to lead back to the patient wings. Though he still felt it unlikely Watts would risk keeping them above ground, it was still as good a place as any to look.

Taking a breath he started forward again, forking to the right down the fenced in portion marked for the patients.

It was completely illogical but he really wished he'd had the option of going down the staff route. But given the things he'd seen tonight he'd forgive himself a little irrational paranoia.

He continued along as he had been, every few moments checking behind him to make sure no one was creeping up in the dark. A few minutes ago he had started hearing scuffing noises, and every time he did he'd feel the tension in his muscles tighten up another notch.

The one good thing was the noises didn't sound close so it could just be an echo. Until he had a more concrete concern he was trying to push down the rising fear. The fear was pretty much a constant state of being here.

It was all just a matter of degrees.

Suddenly he stopped . . . he could have sworn he'd just heard his name.

Tipping his head to the side, he listened intently.

Nothing.

He was about to start walking once more when he heard it again. It was faint and it was coming from up ahead.

"HOTCH! CALL OUT IF YOU CAN HEAR ME!

EMILY!

That was her. There was no doubt that was her. Joy filled his heart as he yelled back.

"EMILY! I'M HERE!"

He took off at a run, "KEEP YELLING!"

She was alive! Thank you GOD, she was ALIVE!

There was silence and then he heard her again. Much closer now and he could make out the tears and disbelief in her voice.

"HOTCH, IS THAT **REALLY **YOU?"

"YES EMILY! IT'S ME! I'M COMING! JUST KEEP TALKING SO THAT I KNOW YOU'RE OKAY!"

There was another pause and then she sounded closer still as she yelled.

"TELL ME SOMETHING ONLY HOTCH WOULD KNOW!"

His eyes crinkled . . . good girl.

He got another shot of adrenaline and he picked up speed as he yelled back.

"REID'S HAIR LOOKED RIDICULOUS YESTERDAY!"

His flashlight beam was bouncing on the floor and the walls and then suddenly he saw another beam ahead of him. It was much smaller but it was also coming at a run, bouncing and closing fast

And then he saw her and his face lit up as he opened his arms and she leapt at him crying, throwing her arms around his neck.

"It did look ridiculous!"

Emily hit him so hard that Hotch barely kept his balance. But he stayed on his feet, still holding onto his gun and his light as he picked her up, hugging her to his chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around her.

"Oh thank God you're okay! I just found a body . . . it looked," his voice broke as he buried his face in her hair, "I thought you were dead."

Emily squeezed her arms around his neck as she cried, "I heard screams," she choked back a sob, "I thought he was hurting you."

She couldn't believe she'd found him! Marco Polo actually worked! When they got home she was putting that in the field manual!

Turning her face into his neck, she smelled the distinctive mix of the man and his aftershave that had become so familiar over the past few years . . . and despite the circumstances a grin still broke across her face . . . yep, definitely Hotch.

Hotch didn't want to let go of her but they couldn't stay here. Just because they were back together didn't mean they were out of danger. Not by a long shot. There were those noises behind him, and they weren't in the best position to defend themselves right now.

Though one thing he could guarantee, Watts wasn't splitting them up again.

Keeping a vice grip on her, he slowly lowered her to the ground before he leaned back slightly. His light was reflecting off the grey ceiling above them and he could see her in shadows.

His voice was gentle as he asked quietly, "are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

Still with her arms around his neck Emily shook her head as she sniffled trying to stop crying, "no, I woke up in one of the ward rooms, tied with bed linens. Which was a lucky break so I used my teeth to get free," she huffed, "I bit my arm, and I wouldn't be surprised if I have a heart attack, but basically I'm okay."

She pulled the hand down holding her small light as she touched his cheek before asking worriedly, "are _you_ okay? Just before I got out of the room I heard somebody screaming in pain and I thought it was you."

His expression softened slightly, "no, I'm not hurt either," he rolled his eyes, "which is really a miracle because he tried to take my head off with an axe and then I fell down two flights of stairs."

Emily's eyes widened in horror as she said in a harsh whisper, "he came after you with an axe!"

Now that they were back together she realized it probably would be best if she lowered her voice and stopped advertising their position to the entire hospital.

He nodded, "yeah, I was following a blood trail after I found your . . ." shaking his head, he stopped, realizing they could catch up after they were moving again. But then he gave her a worried look, "I have your gun. I found it in the crossway but I have to let go of you to get it out."

God knows he didn't want to let go of her, not for a second, he'd seen how fast Watts could move. But they had to regroup.

Looking at him for a second, she bit her lip as she used the hand holding her light to wipe away the tears that were starting to slip down her cheeks again, "but I don't want to let go. We can't get separated again Hotch," her voice broke, "upstairs he came up behind me and whispered my name and I, I . . ." she started crying again.

She didn't want tell him how close she came to falling down the rabbit hole.

Hotch's eyes burned as he stared at her, "okay," he hugged her back to his chest, "I won't let go. But we need to get resituated because we're vulnerable right now."

If Watts decided to pull another sneak attack at this moment they were fucked.

She nodded against his chest, "I know, and I'm sorry I'm not handling this as well as . . ."

Hotch cut her off as he dipped his head down to hers to whisper in her ear.

"Hey, don't say that. Don't even think something like that. You're alive, and that's all that matters. And trust me when I say I have _not_ been handling this well either. But there's nothing in the manual to cover _anything_ like this so we're just going to keep doing the best we can, okay?"

Sniffling she leaned back, "okay."

"Okay now I want use our belts to fasten a tether between us. So even if he tries to separate us again, it won't be possible," he gave her a hard look, "I promise you Emily, I _swear_ to you, I won't let him take you again," he gave her a sad smile, "my heart couldn't take it."

Emily's face softened as she watched him do a quick run of his light all around them. She knew that outside the team a lot of people thought Hotch was a cold bastard, but in reality, he was a really sweet guy with a kind heart. And now that they were back together, for the first time since they walked in the front door, she wasn't completely gripped in a paralyzing fear that she was never going to see daylight again.

Yeah, she was still fucking terrified, but at present Hotch had her in a death grip. And though she knew it was an illusion, she felt a little bit safer because of it.

After Hotch checked the tunnels, he moved them over to the brick wall, looking down at her apologetically, "we're about to get very familiar Agent Prentiss."

She gave him a watery smile back, "I told you outside, Siamese twins. You pick the body part and I promise I will stay glued to it," and then she tried for a joke to lighten the mood, "though I'm not really in the mood right now so you probably want to avoid that one particular body part. But feel free to glue me to anything else."

His lips twitched and he stared at her for a moment. Even now, even here, she could make him smile. He leaned down to kiss the top of her head murmuring.

"I'm so glad you're okay Prentiss."

Though he and Emily had become friends over the past few years he hadn't realized how deeply he cared about her until tonight when he thought he'd lost her. That was a grief that would have taken him to his knees if he hadn't seen those fingernails and known it wasn't her. But he could consider those feelings and what they meant when they were back in the world.

This was definitely _not_ the time.

Taking a deep breath he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "I'm going to give you the Mag and you cover the tunnels while I get us tied together."

Only a minute or two had passed since they'd been reunited, but the feeling of euphoria was wearing off and he was starting to get that twitch on the back of his neck again. He didn't know if that was a conditioned response to their newfound circumstances, or there was some subconscious sensing of imminent danger, but either way. He was starting to feel like time was speeding up again.

And seeing the look on Emily's face he sensed she was feeling it too.

Whatever sense of safety Emily had been feeling a moment ago was slipping away and her spidey senses were tingling as she anxiously looked back and forth between their two exposed sides.

Hotch wound his leg around hers so they were pressed together from torso to ankle. It was an incredibly intimate posture which would have been very inappropriate under other circumstances. But he was going to have to take his hands off of her and he was making damn sure that Watts wouldn't be able to snatch her in those few seconds it took him to get their belts looped.

They traded lights. He stuck her mini one between his teeth as she shifted the weight of the heavier Mag in her hands and turned all of her attention on their surroundings.

Trusting Emily implicitly to watch his back, Hotch put one hand on her hip as he leaned down to tuck his Glock back into his ankle holster. He preferred the sig and this was the first moment he'd had to switch weapons again. Then he reached over and started fumbling with her belt buckle.

Even given the situation he still felt like he was doing something wrong. But he pushed that feeling aside as he quickly yanked her belt out of the loops and started fastening it around her left wrist. That was the one she was holding the light with.

Thank God she was a righty and he was a lefty. Their dominant hands were the ones they held their guns with. Otherwise it would have been more of a challenge figuring out a way to get them tied together.

The beam bounced slightly as he jostled her arm. He wanted the belt loose enough so it didn't cut off her circulation but it had to be tight enough that there was no chance of it slipping down and over her wrist. And her wrists were very delicate so basically he had to use like the 2nd notch.

Around the flashlight he mumbled, "too tight?"

Snapping her eyes over to his she gave him a quick head shake, "no it's fine."

She turned her eyes back to the tunnels as he started undoing his own buckle. Tick tock goes the clock was starting to run through her head again.

Hotch pulled out his belt, looping it through hers, and then, holding his arm against his chest, secured his belt to his right wrist. Once that little notch was secure he let out a slight breath.

Now they were tethered together with about a three foot give on the belts. He didn't plan on letting go of her hand until they were back in the SUV but this was an extra insurance policy just in case Watts tried to snatch her again. Given what a sick fuck he was Hotch was starting to see the psychological torture of pulling them apart was probably as much fun for him as the physical torture they would undoubtedly endure later if he ever got his hands on them. Not that it was ever going to that point. Because Hotch was serious in what he'd said . . . his heart couldn't take another separation.

If Emily fell down the stairs, stepped off the roof, or got dragged off into the dark, Hotch was going with her.

After taking the mini light out of his mouth, he slipped out her sig from his waistband and was about to tuck it into hers when she whispered, "I picked up a cross draw holster but I want to switch weapons too."

He checked her gun, and then took off the safety before he passed that one to her and took back the Glock. Then he lifted her vest and sure enough . . . cross draw holster.

That was new.

He tucked her second weapon back into its hidey hole and looked between the two of them trying to see if anything else needed to be done.

No . . . he chewed his lip . . . he was pretty sure they were good to travel. He was just about pull out his pistol when something on her forehead caught his attention.

This was the first time since he'd seen her again that he'd had a light right on her. She'd been in shadows before.

Emily caught Hotch staring at her face and her eyes snapped back to his as she asked worriedly, "what?"

Hotch didn't answer, he just pushed back her bangs and what he saw there made his blood run cold. He tried to quickly school his features but he knew that Emily had seen his reaction.

Her eyes widened in fear as she asked in a small voice, "what is it?"

For a moment he desperately wanted to lie to her and say nothing. That he'd just been thinking about something that happened. But he couldn't do that.

She'd see the lie for what it was. And besides, they were in this together and she deserved to know the truth.

Slipping his pistol back out he did a quick look around them before he turned back to her. He put the hand holding the small flashlight on her hip as he looked in her eyes, once again seeing her in shadow as he said softly, "there's some writing on your forehead. It's in black marker."

Her heart began pounding as the tears pooled in her eyes.

Oh God. Oh Jesus. Oh God.

Then she asked on a broken whisper, "what does it say?"

His fingers dug into her side, wishing he didn't have to tell her, this might put her right over the edge. He pulled her back against his body before he pressed his lips to her ear.

"It says . . . _Emily . . ._" he felt her body freeze and he swallowed before finishing, "_D.O.D. 4/7/09_."

* * *

_A/N 2: Dun, dun, da! Different kind of suspense ending. I decided I'd be pushing my goodwill on tolerance for another imminent personal jeopardy cliffhanger. To quote Gob, the greatest TV character ever, it would have been a "come on!" situation. _

_And I was going to just make this an Emily chapter and cut it slightly differently at the end of her first segment. Then it would have been up yesterday. In that other version, which is how I'd planned on writing it, I was going to have them find each other, but stuck on opposite sides of the fence. But then I decided they'd really been through a lot already and I should at least let them get that brief, flickering, moment of happiness before I change the game again. There is a psychological breaking point and their stress levels were through the roof so I figured if I didn't get them back together soon one or both of them was going to start to crack. Though Emily now might just crack anyway. I probably would if somebody wrote my name and date of death on my forehead while I was unconscious. _

_I said my movie gave me another idea beyond Hydrotherapy, it was the fence. I'd forgotten about those fences that they had in the lockdown hospitals. So I put one on Emily's staircase. That wasn't in the movie, but there is a scene (this isn't a spoiler) where one of the characters is in the tunnel and comes across the fence labeled Patients/Staff. And I always thought that was a particularly creepy thing to come across in the dark._

_The dish and spoon did just run down this whole other path and I think I'd like to stick with them for now. But I don't have the next segment started yet so it might be a day or so before I post here again. Also, I haven't worked on Girl in almost a week. And if you're looking for it, honestly I'm not quite mentally in a place to write that lighter stuff right now. But I am going to devote a little time to try banging out the next draft chapter there or it's going to be another week before I get anything up. _

_So FYI, if you read my stuff regularly, for the time being, I think I'm going to keep my attentions here. I'm down in the tunnels with them at the moment and I'd like to keep going along with them for now. Now that I have them back together I'm sort of rejuvenated on ideas. I could only screw with them so much individually without either killing or seriously wounding one of them to make it interesting again. The good thing is, I did jump ahead to the end so if suddenly my dark, twisty muse decides she's had enough writing in this world I can easily wrap it. I won't leave you hanging. But if you'll all indulge me I think I'd like to play a little longer :)_

_Feedback is still helping guys :) And you keep throwing out ideas and theories, who knows, you might get some of them incorporated in here! After all, we can't really be sure that Hotch has this thing figured out._


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**: Just a little side note here before we get back to regularly scheduled programming. You can skip ahead if you want, this is NOT story related. This is a rant, please excuse it, but I'm kind of upset.

I did change the rating on the story, not solely for the language issue, but some other stuff. But as to the language, you can insert eye roll here if you happened to read a recent review I got. As a side note this is the third time this woman has expressed sanctimonious disbelief that grownups in law enforcement swear, (and that they wouldn't swear more under these circumstances). I don't know what planet she lives on, but it's not earth. Because I work with law enforcement, my family is in law enforcement, and they are all quite intelligent and they swear a LOT. WAY more than my characters do! It's a rough world they live in. But this woman has also called my language in "Girl" vulgar, so yeah.

And the only reason I even mentioned this 'person' is because she feels the need to repeatedly bring something to the world's attention via the review process, (rather than a PM where perhaps it would be more appropriate to have such a discussion) so I thought I'd take advantage of my little soapbox here and shine the light the other way. Please trust that if you don't 'talk' to me regularly, I would NEVER ordinarily do that, I'm a very nice person. I try to be anyway. And I make a concerted effort to not be an asshole. And I don't freak out at constructive, polite, informed, criticism. But she really upset me this time. Or really it was more the straw that broke the camel because this was the THIRD time, so I thought I'd try something new and be a real bitch about it. I'm not proud of that. But last time I let it fester and I couldn't write for like three days because she got in my head and messed things up. And I'm not just calling her out in public, (that would be cowardly), I already wrote back to her, I said my peace. And it's clear she wasn't going to continue to read this story anyway, I just thought maybe I'd feel a little better if I was a bit petty and small. I do kinda and I'm letting it go now :)

So anyway, enough with that, again, the change in rating is because things are going to get very icky.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

A frigid blast went through Emily's entire body as she heard Hotch repeat those horrible words.

While she was unconscious a serial killer had written her name . . . and the date she was going to die . . . Tuesday . . . on her forehead.

She'd been tagged. Tagged and released.

Suddenly she saw that it wasn't sloppiness on his part that she'd only been tied in bed linens. Or that her cell was unlocked. She wasn't supposed to die today. Today was Saturday.

She was _scheduled_ to die on Tuesday.

He still needed to have fun with her first. Torture her. Let her think she was going to get free. Let her think that she was going to get away, when in reality . . . she started to feel the sobs rising up . . . he'd been playing with them all along. She started to weep.

They were going to die! Their fate was sealed the moment they walked in the door.

As Emily started to cry Hotch's own eyes burned as he slid his hand off of her hip and around to her back. Something had shifted in her. Her sobs were shuddering and . . . hopeless. And now he hated himself for having told her.

YOU IDIOT! WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?

He should have kept it to himself until they'd gotten away. Hell maybe he could have scrubbed it off of her before she'd ever seen it! He needed to do something now, something to fix this before she gave up completely. He needed to get her to connect with him again, because otherwise she was going to slip away into this darkness. And he couldn't let that happen. Survival in a situation like this was half mental.

Once you gave up, you were dead.

After quickly running his light over the tunnels, he stepped back slightly before leaning down to pick her up again. His chest hurt as he felt how tightly her arms locked around his neck and the shoulder of his vest was immediately soaked with her tears. Swallowing hard, praying this would work, he started whispering in her ear.

"Emily listen to me, I need you. I need you to believe that we're going to get out of here because if you give up hope, if you think we're going to die, then that's going to be a self fulfilling prophecy. He'll win. And we're stronger than that. We're better than him and he's not going to beat us. We're smart, and we have weapons, and most importantly, we're together. And we're going to stay together. And Emily I swear, on my son's life that I believe that we _can_ get out of here. And you have to believe that too because I can't do it without you."

Feeling her tears start to taper off, he knew he was getting through to her. And now he needed to not just appeal to the terrified woman in his arms, but to his agent . . . his Prentiss . . . who he knew was still in there somewhere. His voice took on a harder edge as he continued.

"And then later, we're going to come back here with half the LEOS in New Jersey and we're going to take this place apart brick by brick. Watts might have a higher body count than most of our UNSUBS, but he's still just a man, and we're going to take this fucker down. Because that's what we do, we catch the bad guys," he squeezed her tightly, "right?"

Hotch felt her nod against his shoulder and he knew she'd come back from wherever she'd gone. Then she kissed his cheek and he slowly lowered her to the ground again, keeping her pressed close. He once more ran the light around them before he looked down at her.

Her eyes were still wet but he could see the determination was back . . . Prentiss was back. And then she surprised him by leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

His eyes crinkled slightly as she pulled away with a soft smile, "I forgot I was supposed to do that before. If you hadn't made me carry the Glock today I would have been completely defenseless when I woke up in that room. So thank you."

And then, for his sake, so he'd know that she was okay, she made an effort to brighten up a little more as she wiped the tears off of her face, "and you're getting a way better one for giving me the flashlight for Christmas. But that has to wait until we get outside. It's going to take more attention than I can give it at the moment."

His lip quirked up slightly, Emily was back too. And as a reward for her effort at normality, which he knew took a lot out of her, he raised an amused eyebrow, "well then I guess we better hurry up and get back outside so I can get the other one, huh?"

She huffed slightly, "that's just what I was thinking sir."

His face softened as he asked quietly, "you okay now?"

Their stress levels were through the roof. And she'd been through more horrors in the past hour than probably the last year. And he was including the beating she took in Colorado. So it was completely understandable if she wasn't okay. He just needed to know either way.

She gave a weary nod, "yeah, let's pick a direction and get out of here."

It wasn't just Hotch's insistence that they would get through this that brought her back from the brink. That was part of it. But it was when he'd sworn on Jack's life, that's what had reminded her . . . there was a little boy that needed his father.

And if she gave up hope, that meant Hotch wasn't going to get home to him.

She couldn't let that happen. So she got her shit together and geared up for hard times. Because she no longer had any illusions about just walking out of here. This was a fun house. And Watts definitely had a few more tricks up his sleeve.

They switched lights again and Hotch flashed the stronger beam first in the direction that Emily had come from, and then the one he had. Then he looked down at her.

"Well, obviously there are stairs at both ends, we just have to figure out which way is quicker. How long were you walking?"

She shrugged, "I wasn't walking until the last couple minutes. I was running as fast as I could for I don't know," she tipped her head, "maybe three or four minutes after I got downstairs. I covered a good distance. But keep in mind, the whole route I was on was fenced in on the side. So yeah, this will lead directly back to a staircase but there's no place else to go if Watts turns up suddenly."

Hotch was biting his lip as she was talking, looking over her shoulder back into the shadows. He very much did not care for the idea of being fenced in, so when she finished he jerked his head to the other side as he said quietly.

"Okay then, let's go my way. I was walking for about ten, twelve minutes maybe. Given our difference paces, I'd say we probably covered the same distance. But the fence only started a little ways back, right before I heard you yelling actually. So we won't be pinned in, plus there are side rooms. Worst case we hole up and defend ourselves. We have four handguns between us and he seems to prefer a blade. Even if he has a gun, I still like our odds there."

He looked down at the small light in her hand.

"Why don't you turn that off to save the batteries and then it put it somewhere safe. I have one in my pocket too but if we get ambushed and I lose the big light, or it gets broken, those are going to be our last tickets out of here."

Before Hotch was even done talking Emily had turned off the mini Mag and was leaning down to tuck it into the side pocket of her charcoal grey cargo pants.

She thanked God she was in field dress today . . . she secured the button over the pocket . . . at least she knew for sure it wouldn't get lost. It was going to seriously suck if they lost the big light. They'd definitely need both of the smaller ones.

As Emily looked back up at him Hotch stared at her for a moment, seeing those horrible numbers on her forehead. He needed to get her out of here. He wasn't superstitious but only a moron wouldn't see having a death date stamped on your forehead by a serial killer as a 'bad omen.' And all the positive thinking in the world wasn't going to change that the fact that they were in some serious shit right now.

He gave her a searching look, "you ready?"

She stared back for a moment before taking a breath and nodding, "yeah."

Hotch had been planning on holding her hand but he realized that was going to be impossible with the large flashlight, so instead they looped arms.

He would have felt better if he had an actual grip on her, but this was the best he could do under the circumstances.

And though he was holding the flashlight with that hand, Emily's hand was free and she clenched her fingers around his bicep. So between that and the belts, snatch and grab was no longer possible.

As they started walking again they kept talking in soft whispers. Starting with Emily catching him up moment by moment on exactly what had happened to her while they were separated. Hotch was very interested in those closed doors on the patient ward. If his theory was correct those could be other victims. And as much as he'd love to be responsible SSA Aaron Hotchner and go check that ward before they left, NO way was he making that detour.

It was a shot in the dark. Literally. There was no guarantee they'd find anyone down there. Let alone anyone _alive_. And most likely Watts would just get the drop on them again.

No, the plan now was simple and in three steps. Get to the first floor, get to the SUV, get back to the world.

That's it.

No detours for any reason. As soon as their cells were working they'd call in backup, bring in the lights, best case get the God damn electricity turned back on, and then, and ONLY then, would they have this place searched. But in at least four man search teams.

Lights or no lights he wasn't letting anybody walk into this house of horrors with less than three people for _immediate_ backup.

As Hotch's flashlight bounced on a streak of blood a few feet to the right of them Emily halted and sucked in her breath.

Hotch obviously also had to stop, and seeing what she was looking at shook his head as he whispered.

"That's the same blood trail I saw before. The one coming from the . . ."

And then his voice faded away.

Wait, how _did_ this trail start right here? Why didn't it continue on down the tunnel? He hadn't seen even a drop of blood by the time he got to the fence. That girl had JUST been killed and yet neither Hotch nor Emily had run into Watts in either direction which meant . . .

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

At that exact moment he heard the scuffing sound again, this time right behind them and suddenly he knew what it was. He screamed at Emily.

"DOWN!"

They both dropped and in the next instant he heard what he had earlier discovered was the distinctive whoosh of an axe blade as it swung through the air.

Unfortunately there was no wood for it to stick in this time, but there was a clang as it bounced off the brick to the side.

Before that sound had barely even reached his ears Hotch was yanking Emily up from their crouch and they began racing through the tunnel. He was seeing nothing now but the blur of the light hitting the grey walls and the stone floor.

MOTHERFUCKER! AGAIN HE'D GOTTEN THE DROP ON THEM!

This time Hotch knew how though. That frigging blood trail that came out of nowhere. It wasn't nowhere! There was a hidden door and it had to be made out of brick.

That was the scuff. The sound it made scraping on the ground.

And that must be his kill room. And Hotch was pretty sure, given the number of times he'd heard that door open and close while he was walking, that there had been either two more live victims pulled in there, or two more bodies dragged over to the Hydrotherapy area.

He hadn't seen any more blood so most likely they were live victims.

God damn it! His eyes widened. They might have just left two people behind to get butchered.

And then another terrible realization came to him.

While he was in Hydrotherapy elbow deep in body parts, Watts had been probably 20 feet away in the next room over doing God knows what in what appeared to be a soundproof room.

Hotch wouldn't have thought it possible to be more amped up than he was but that did it. Emily was right, if neither of them had a heart attack tonight it would be a miracle.

And knowing that further speculation on that front wasn't going to be at all productive, Hotch shoved those horrific whatifs aside, focusing in on listening to see if he could hear anything behind him.

Blood rushing in his ears . . . feet pounding on the ground . . . both he and Emily panting.

That was it.

Any other noise was obscured. But it was too much to hope for, Emily's post dated death stamp notwithstanding, that Watts was going to give up the chase every single time. He might enjoy toying with them, but eventually it was going to be enough is enough and he would go for a dedicated pursuit.

And Hotch would welcome that, the opportunity to fight back, if not for that GOD DAMN **AXE**!

In close quarters it was worse than a gun. There was no such thing as a 'minor' axe wound. If either he or Emily got hit with that blade ANYWHERE it was going to be a horrific injury. Even if it wasn't immediately fatal, most likely they'd lose a body part.

And even though they had the guns these were thus far impossible circumstances to use them in. Watts always came up from behind. If they had overhead lighting they could maybe mount a proper defense, but as it was, they were utterly dependent on the flashlight.

There were just too many factors working against them to have the maneuverability to attempt to use their weapons right now.

Still, he so badly wanted to just turn around and fire a few shots. By the grace of God he'd him, but even if not, perhaps it would slow him down.

But Hotch couldn't do it, they'd lose momentum. Also Watts could be wearing a vest. It could be a complete waste of effort.

And hell if they weren't going at a good clip right now and he couldn't risk screwing that up. Even though his legs were longer, Emily was keeping up stride for stride. But he also knew that she had just finished running the 50 yard dash less than fifteen minutes ago. And he didn't know how long she'd be able to go again so he needed to figure out an angle here.

Maybe they could just stop like she had earlier. Take Watts by surprise if he was still behind them.

Then he realized the difference was here, he and Emily were together. And he couldn't get her to stop on a dime without saying something aloud, which would alert Watts to their intentions. Thereby losing the element of surprise.

So no go on that plan.

He focused in on what was coming up ahead of them. The tunnel was about to fork.

SHIT!

That meant somehow they'd run past the staircase he'd come down. Everything around them was a blur. But the bottom line was that they were going to have to find a new way out. And it was going to have to be one of these two rapidly approaching tunnels.

LEFT RIGHT LEFT RIGHT LEFT

RIGHT!

Last time right found him Emily. Hopefully this time right would find them a way out.

But as they veered down this new tunnel he immediately started to think that maybe this wasn't the best choice. The walls here weren't grey, they were black.

Who the hell paints the walls of an underground tunnel black!

Hotch felt Emily's step drag for a second and he knew she was running out of steam. Regardless of Watts location, they had to stop soon.

Suddenly his light flashed on something lying against the side of the tunnel wall. His brain recoiled.

HOLY SHIT!

He shook his head. That couldn't have been what he thought it was.

Without thinking he started to turn to look again, taking the flashlight beam with him, but then Emily screamed and he whipped his head and the light back around front.

And he knew then that hadn't been his imagination. His eyes widened in terror.

There was another one just ahead.

OH JESUS CHRIST . . . IT WAS MOVING!

They didn't have time to stop or go around. Emily yelped as they went tumbling over . . . it . . . him . . . her? He couldn't tell. And he started to feel a little of his rational brain splinter off. But in that split second he had to choose whether to try and keep the flashlight with him or Emily.

He of course chose Emily.

They landed in a heap, him half on top of her. Both of them still had their guns but he'd let go of the Mag so he could grab her arm and the flashlight pitched ahead of them.

It spun around, and around, illuminating in bursts of shadow and light the new hell they found themselves in.

There were at least a half dozen of them. Some were bloody. Some were moving.

Some were making sounds that were no longer human.

Hotch's heart started to jackrabbit in his chest.

OH JESUS OH CHRIST OH GOD OH JESUS

He knew then . . . this is what would happen if Watts caught up to them with the axe.

Below him Emily was shrieking hysterically at a pitch he'd never heard before. He knew she was one step short of going completely mad. And he feared he wasn't far behind. Because looking at those mutilated figures, hearing those terrible sounds they were making, something in Hotch's own brain started to splinter a little more.

And then the light went out.

* * *

_A/N 2: So yeah, going right really wasn't the best call here. Even Hotch occasionally fumbles the ball. Though who's to say really that left would have been better?_

_I tried to switch back and forth on viewpoints for that latter half but I couldn't make it work. Hotch's bit about the door needed to get out there, and he being the more 'dominant' one would have been making the decisions about direction and plan of action so it was better to stay in his head. And they just weren't moving long enough to get back into Emily's. The next chapter will open with her though :)_

_In an effort to keep this interesting, I've been wracking my brain trying to think of other movies I personally find to be scary. Not necessarily to steal 'stuff' but to find other movies with 'vibes' that creeped me out._

_So here, beyond my Session 9 vibe, this chapter I pulled in something from the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre (the gritty 70s version). Still the most upsetting thing I've ever 'heard' is that scene lit in a bouncing flashlight where the girl sees Leatherface cut up her brother with a chainsaw. And she starts screaming hysterically and she just didn't stop for like 4 minutes. The actress had to have thrown up or something she was so worked up. I've seen it a half dozen times and that pitch she hits, and it just goes on and on, and it still makes the hairs on my neck stand up. So that was the tone at the end there._

_And lest anyone out there think that I personally am sick enough to come up with that "whatever it was" I'm not. I'm NOT a serial killer in the making! Though I believe there was a Japanese horror film that also used it, I specifically pulled it from a really old black and white horror film. And I'll be INCREDIBLY impressed if anyone guesses which movie it was. _

_Though really, this entire story boils down to my personal greatest fears. I had a terrible nightmare like two days before I started writing this and though the 'plot' was quite different than this story, it involved an axe. Something about an axe is just SO much more upsetting than somebody coming after you with a gun. Anybody can use a gun, you gotta be a fucking whackjob to come after somebody with an axe! And just the horrible, horrible things that can happen to you if you don't die. Oy._

_And a little bit of inspirational credit here to ImaSupernaturalCSI, she mentioned in her review that maybe one of them would 'miss a step'. And I had been a little stuck about what to do once they veered into that tunnel but that started my brain thinking about ways to trip them up. This seemed to be about the most upsetting thing they could possibly trip over! Really, the most upsetting thing EVER for anyone to trip over!_

_Feedback guys! It might get you into the story!_


	7. Chapter 6

**Author's Note**: This chapter is a little different, warning, it is more explicit, which is why I had changed the rating. And I kind of tried to inject a bit of humanity into the situation they just fell into.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

The flashlight stopped spinning and they were plunged into darkness.

Emily tried desperately to stop screaming. Because part of her brain, the higher functioning part, was starting to understand now, that these horrible creatures all around them . . . they weren't creatures . . . they were people.

Watts had done this to them. Hotch had been wrong . . . he wasn't just a man. He truly was something that had come up from hell.

Blindly she reached out for Hotch, and as soon as her fingers made contact, he grabbed her, gasping as he clutched her to his chest.

They were both now up in a kneeling position.

Emily's screams turned to ragged panting as she tried to get herself under control. And to do that she focused on Hotch, feeling his arms wrapped tightly around her.

She tried to remember what it was like to be warm. To feel safe. To not live in a state of continuous, maniacal terror.

Digging her fingers into Hotch's back, she pulled him closer. And as she felt the way his heart was racing, she knew he was as close to losing it as she was. It was strangely comforting.

They could go mad together.

Pressing her lips to his ear she whimpered, "I want to go home now."

Clutching her even tighter, Hotch whispered back a ragged, "I know sweetheart . . . me too."

His mind was racing. He knew that they had to go. They had to go now before Watts came back with that axe. The evidence of what would happen to them if they were still here when he returned was now all around them.

But for the first time in his life, Aaron Hotchner, a man who had been chasing monsters for over a decade, was almost paralyzed with fear.

Your brain could only function with so much stress and then it starts to short circuit. And this past hour, this place had become the greatest mindfuck on the planet. Every time he turned around there was something else coming out of the shadows, trying to break him.

And it was coming close.

But then he remembered his promise to Emily, that they would get out because they were stronger than Watts. They were better than him and they wouldn't let him win.

And that meant they needed to get it in gear.

So the first thing they needed to do . . . one little thing . . . was get up off the ground.

The things . . . he winced even though he'd only said the word in his head . . . the _people_, were on the ground. And he needed to get away from them because they were moving around. And as ashamed as he was at feeling this way, he was afraid that if one of them touched him in the dark, that that might be his breaking point.

And then his eyes started to burn as he wondered if they were still sentient. If there was a God those people had long since lost their ability to understand their place in the world. Maybe now they just responded to light. Maybe that's why they had started moving.

Holding Emily as close to him as he could, he pulled them both to their feet. She'd stopped screaming and she was now quietly sobbing against his chest. And for a moment his shame and fear were dwarfed by an overwhelming sense of guilt.

It was entirely his fault that she was here. He'd chosen her to come with him. And his reasons for taking her instead of Morgan were completely selfish.

Emily cheered him up.

This was a horrible case and Emily's dry wit and sweet personality always brought a bit of light into the day. So he'd picked her to come with him and left Morgan working on compiling missing persons reports with JJ. Not that he would ever wish this hell on Derek either. And it's quite probable things would have gone to shit just as fast if it had been the two of them instead of him and Emily.

But still . . . he didn't know that for sure.

All he did know for sure was that if anything happened to Emily it was all his fault. But he tried to shove that aside for now. Guilt was an emotion that served no purpose in this place. No matter how it happened, they were here and they needed to start dealing again.

He knew that they had to get out their flashlights, but for some reason, now that they were off the floor, darkness was better right now. His brain was still processing what he had seen. And though they could still hear those terrible mewling sounds, and there were movements in the shadows, somehow that was still better than seeing what was going on.

But they needed to walk over these bodies to get out. And God forbid they stepped on someone, so they needed the lights before they could move.

His hand was shaking as he took it off of Emily's back and slipped it down into his pocket, feeling for his keys.

Slowly he pulled them out, the slight jingling the only sound besides their ragged breath and those inhuman moans coming from the floor. He whispered in her ear.

"I'm going to put the light on, don't look down, just step where I tell you to, okay?"

Biting her lip, Emily felt another tear run down her cheek as she nodded against his chest, "okay."

Hotch moved the little flashlight up between them and pressed the button.

A small beam of light bounced down from the ceiling.

Staring at the roof of the tunnel, Hotch kept taking slow deep breaths as he repeated one thought over and over to himself.

They were people, they were victims, and they were suffering.

Finally, once those words had reconciled between his heart and his head, he refocused the light and looked down.

He wanted to weep.

Seeing them as objects before, as cruel and horrible as that was, seeing them now as people was so much worse. As objects he was somewhat desensitized to their anguish. He could temporarily detach from his humanity.

But no longer.

Because as he looked down, he knew there was no law to fit this crime. There could be no punishment that would ever match this degree of suffering.

Their limbs had been hacked off. The ragged ends of the stumps had been sealed over, and given the puckered flesh from the burns on the skin around them, probably with a blow torch. And he could see their scalps had cuts on them too, most likely from a straight razor because their hair was gone. In some instances stubble was forming.

Some part of his brain registered that Watts must be feeding them somehow if any of them had survived long enough for their hair to grow back. But then his eyes traveled down to their throats.

Their vocal cords had been cut to prevent them from screaming while they were being tortured.

Before he could stop himself he started asking questions that he didn't want the answers to.

How long did they remain conscious when the vivisections began? And after they'd passed out from the agony of the axe hacking into them, did they wake up again to the searing anguish of the fire scalding their flesh?

Shaking his head, he swallowed the bile in his throat as he tried to focus on the here and now and not on what had come before. Looking around them, he counted 7 bodies in total. They were all wrapped in dirty bandages, but on some the blood stains were brown and others still red.

New victims.

Two of the seven appeared to be women and as he focused his light in on one girl, her bandages were red, he could see . . . she was crying.

All hopes he'd had that their minds had left them were shattered.

He bent his head down to Emily's, trying to stifle his sob as he whispered in her ear, "she's crying Emily . . . she's still in there."

The tears began pooling in Emily's eyes again as she felt a stab of grief and shame.

These poor, pitiful people had been butchered in unimaginable ways. They had suffered beyond measure . . . and she had screamed at them like they were monsters.

And they had known the whole time what she was doing.

She felt horrible. And as she felt Hotch's warm tears on her neck, Emily pulled him in closer, continuing to mentally castigate herself.

How could she let him try to do this alone? He shouldn't have to bear this burden for both of them.

She rubbed his back, murmuring a choked, "we'll do it together."

Hotch nodded as he whispered, "one second" before turning his face into her hair, feeling her warm body, focusing only on her. For just a moment nothing else existed but Emily. He needed to slip away from this nightmare for a few seconds.

It was the only way he was going to be able to do what they needed to do.

And then he took a breath and patted her back, "okay."

They turned.

The tears started running down Emily's face as she looked at them. Seeing them now not as monsters, or creatures, but as the teenagers that they clearly were. Boys and girls with families. People that loved them, who were missing them, and she was suddenly filled with sorrow and rage.

HOW COULD HE DO THIS? HOW COULD ANYONE DO THIS TO ANOTHER PERSON?

Wiping her eyes she tipped her head onto Hotch's chest as she asked, "do you think they can understand us?"

Trying not to grimace Hotch ran the beam of light over them again. They all recoiled and he knew they'd been down in the dark for a long time. And he also saw that at least three more of them were now crying.

Those were the same ones that were trying to talk.

He had never felt so helpless in his life. He had no idea what to do. It seemed a sin, truly a sin against God to leave them like this . . . trapped in this hell. But what could they do? If it was him he'd want somebody to bullet in his brain. But he wasn't about to execute a group of teenagers. Even if they were mercy killings.

He flashed the light behind him . . . they needed to make a decision though because they couldn't stay here much longer. Eventually Watts would turn up again.

Feeling Emily pull away from him slightly, Hotch started to panic and he reached out for her. But that's when he realized she was stooping down.

It was the girl.

The first one he'd seen that had made him cry. And he could see now Emily's hand was trembling as she reached out to touch her face.

He was astounded at her level of compassion. He honestly wasn't sure if he was capable of doing that.

Emily pushed down her revulsion and horror. Reminding herself over and over again that this was a terrified young girl who had been brutally tortured, her body mutilated beyond repair. She was a person . . . and she was crying. And Emily wanted to do something to comfort her. But there was nothing that she could do. Nothing to make this better. But still, sometimes making the effort was all that they had. So she took a breath and ran her index finger across the little patch of smooth skin on the apple of the girl's cheek.

And as Emily touched her face, the girl turned her head slightly into her hand and Emily's heart broke.

Still pushing back on her brain's insistence on recoiling from this horror, Emily gave the girl a watery smile. Figuring even if her rational thought was gone, she might still be able to understand a basic expression of kindness.

She ran her fingers slowly back and forth as she said gently, "honey blink twice if you can understand me."

Two blinks. And another tear ran down her face.

Grief filled Emily's soul. Her eyes burning, she bit her lip as she turned to look up at Hotch.

He knew what she was asking and he just looked at her sadly and she started to cry.

Emily knew there was no way to take her with them now. But still, how could they leave her! How could they leave any of them?

Terrified and all alone down here in the dark.

Hotch's eyes were wet as he leaned down and put his arm around Emily. Then he looked at the girl with the big blue eyes, still bright with intelligence, the tears were tears running freely down her face now. His voice was husky.

"I'm so sorry sweetheart. I wish we could take you with us. But we'll come back," he gave her a little smile, "I promise we'll come back, hopefully in a few hours, and we'll get you out of here."

The girl closed her eyes and he felt like a complete bastard.

What had happened to her wasn't his fault and he still felt like he had been tested and that he had failed her.

But they weren't equipped to deal with this right now. At the moment all they could do was try to stay alive long enough to get out of here and bring back help. But he realized there was one thing they could do for them . . . so they'd know that they weren't being abandoned. He squeezed Emily's side as he said softly.

"We'll leave them the other flashlight. That's the best we can do right now."

Sniffling, Emily pulled her hand back and undid the button on her pocket, pulling out the other small Mag light. She turned it on and placed it next to the girl with a sad smile.

"We'll be back honey. I promise."

Slowly exhaling, Emily stood and looked at Hotch. And by unspoken agreement, even though they knew they desperately needed to leave . . . they didn't.

They never would have been able to live with themselves if they had just walked away. Not knowing now that there were still minds trapped inside these ruined bodies.

So they walked over to each of them individually and Emily smiled at them and brushed away their tears as Hotch made the same promise, over and over.

They would be back . . . they would get them out of here . . . they would bring them home.

He knew that more than half of them understood. They blinked rapidly, eyes watering, trying to speak, not only with their ruined vocal chords, but their eyes as well.

And he'd have given anything to be able to understand them. They had the hell of not only what had happened to them physically, but also the psychological torture of being trapped in their own minds.

Three of them, two boys and the other girl, were completely gone. Their eyes were vacant.

Hotch felt those were the lucky ones.

The psychological and physical torture here was beyond the pale. In all his years, all of the things he'd seen, he'd never come across anything like this. And even if he and Emily could get out alive and get back down to rescue them, he had no idea what quality of life they could have, even back in the world.

Could the doctors repair any of this damage? Would they even be able to find a way to communicate beyond yes or no blinks? What could they do but lie in a hospital bed all day watching the world go by?

And they were all so young, his heart ached. Probably some of them were on those missing persons lists he was going to have Garcia run. He had told them he'd bring them home. But would their parents come for them? And even if they did, would they run screaming from the room?

These were questions that were going to haunt him.

Hotch listened to Emily talking to the boy at their feet. She was apologizing for her behavior, telling him how sorry she was that she'd screamed. That it was a terrible thing to do and that she hoped that he could forgive her. Hotch's eyes burned.

Only Emily could dig down that deep and project back that level of humanity.

He rubbed his hand down her back, pulling her attention away as he whispered, "we have to go."

She nodded but didn't break eye contact with the boy, she just gently cupped his jaw and smiled at him as she promised again, "we'll be back soon."

Emily stood, feeling incredibly guilty that they were leaving them. She also wished that she'd been able to kiss that boy on the cheek.

As much she'd wanted to . . . she just couldn't.

If she and Hotch didn't survive to bring them help, that might be the last kind act that boy would experience and she wasn't capable of moving that far beyond her own revulsion at his condition.

She was terribly ashamed.

Turning to Hotch she slipped her hand around his waist and they started moving forward down the tunnel again.

The flashlight had rolled a good ten feet and when they got to it Emily leaned over to pick it up. Hotch gestured with his chin.

"Try taking out the batteries and putting them back in."

Given it had survived the longer, much harder, trip down the stairs, he was hoping maybe something had just gotten jostled in this much less bumpy drop.

And sure enough, after Emily flipped the batteries, the light blinked back on.

Emily gave Hotch a relieved smile. This was infinitely better than the small flashlight. And now they still had a spare if something else happened.

Hotch tucked the smaller Mag back into his pocket before Emily handed the larger one to him. And even though he had just checked behind them, he ran it down that section of the tunnel once more.

The beam was much stronger and it went farther.

It went just far enough to hit the glint of metal on the axe right before it slammed down on the boy Emily had just been talking to.

* * *

_A/N 2: It was a little harder writing this one because it did have a bit more emotional layering than the others. Which mostly were just horror and terror. But after I mutilated those poor people and had Emily screaming in horror, I felt kind of bad. Because you know, they're people. Fictional people, but fictional people have fictional feelings. So I had to try and fix that. So I (tried) to put myself in that situation and figured if once I calmed down and realized I was screaming hysterically at a real person who had been viciously mutilated and left for dead, I'd kind of feel like a complete schmuck. Not sure if I'd have it in me to actual touch them like Emily did, but I'd like to think so. Fortunately though, it's extremely unlikely I'll have to find out the answer to that question. _

_It's kind of like the 'if you were in the ocean and the person next to you was attacked by a shark, would you try and help them or just flee in terror?' That one, as much as I'd hate myself later, I'm quite sure I'd flee in terror. Though of course, I'd like to believe if it was a friend or family member I'd have the intestinal fortitude to stay. But there's something about sharks though, it's kind of like the axe thing. It triggers a really visceral fight or flight response. _

_Last night I was telling my beta Arcadya, that I tried to do a little research on serial killers because I wanted to give Hotch one name as a reference for somebody who had indeed butchered his victims and kept them alive. I know I've heard of this, if not perhaps to this degree. But I ended up just having him say there was none because I couldn't even get past the first page of the google search results! Just the little blurb of descriptive info about the page, the stuff was horrific! I got 108k hits on 'serial killer cuts up victims alive'. 108,000! I won't gross you out (well, more than I have) with the specifics but suffice it to say, the sad, horrific thing I learned from just the blurbs, was that no matter what I put in this story, it does appear that most likely some sick freak has perpetrated that act in the real world._

_I have a pretty good outline in my head of at least the beginning of the next chapter so I think I can post tomorrow. The question for you though is, should I stop now? Because with the way things are lined up, them finally in a position to use their guns, I can wrap in the next chapter. Maybe do an epilogue. OR in the alternative, I could explore the house of horrors a little more. I just don't want this one to "wear out its welcome." So if the consensus is to wrap before I screw it up, I'll wrap. Because there's nothing more pathetic than seeing like a TV show you used to enjoy that hung around just a little too long. Yeah, I'm talking to you X Files! So if you want to keep going, I can keep going a bit longer. I do have a clear idea in my head to make that work, but your choice :)_


	8. Chapter 7

**Author's Note**: I had major technical difficulties yesterday. My system crashed and I got locked out of my documents and it was a whole big thing. So bottom line, yesterday I didn't get to do more than type the words "chapter 7." Which, though I was off to a roaring start, really wasn't enough to post.

The consensus on the reviews was to go a smidge longer. So I didn't end it how I could have, BUT, I am winding down.

This one's a little shorter than my prior chapters but when you get to the end you'll see why I cut it.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

As the axe cleaved into the boy's torso Hotch was stunned for a moment.

HOLY SHIT!

They'd JUST been standing there! Watts had to have been in the shadows right behind them, waiting for them to move.

Before he could even react Emily had shrieked with rage, firing repeatedly into the darkness.

He screamed at her, "CEASE FIRE!"

She immediately stopped, but not before she threw him a scathing look.

Hotch knew why she was pissed. She thought that this was their big chance and that he was letting Watts get away.

But she'd been shooting in a blind rage so she wasn't thinking as clearly as she usually would have been. Each of them only had one spare clip for the sigs, and they were nowhere close to the front door.

Down here every bullet had to count.

Fortunately there was no doubt in Hotch's mind that after the four shots she'd fired that she had to have hit something. Even shooting blind, they were too close for her to have missed completely.

They stood there for a moment, hearts pounding as they listened.

The beam of light hadn't reached far enough to see Watts himself. Just the axe blade and part of the handle so there was no way to tell from where they were standing what was happening in the shadows. And they couldn't just run down, not knowing his condition.

Hotch flicked his eyes over to Emily's and she swallowed as she gave an imperceptible nod.

In sync, with their weapons in front, they started moving back down the tunnel.

Emily's eyes were burning as they stepped over the other bodies. They were trying to roll themselves to the side. She wished she could stop to reassure them, but what the hell was she going to say?

Hotch directed the beam farther down the tunnel as he stared at the red trails leading away from them.

For a moment Emily ignored the evidence and just looked down at the bloodied remains of the boy she'd been talking to seconds earlier. Her stomach turned.

The axe had cut him almost in two.

Some part of her knew that he might have been happy to have been put out of his misery. But she was still screaming for vengeance.

BECAUSE HE WOULDN'T HAVE **NEEDED** TO HAVE BEEN PUT OUT OF HIS MISERY IF THAT ANIMAL HADN'T BUTCHERED HIM TO BEGIN WITH!

Taking slow, deep breaths she tried to shake that off. She knew that she was going to get herself or Hotch killed if she didn't calm down and start thinking with her head again. Snapping her eyes up, she focused on the blood patterns leading away from the body.

One from the axe . . . and . . . her eyes lit up as she saw the second trail.

SHE HIT THE BASTARD!

For the first time since they'd walked in the front door her fear was almost completely overshadowed. She was still amped, but she felt like she was back in the world, chasing down any other asshole. Because now, finally, it was as it should be.

Watts was the one on the run.

Emily tapped Hotch's arm and he nodded . . . he'd seen it too.

As they slowly started moving back towards the main tunnel, Hotch pushed Emily slightly behind him. Not only did he have the light, but he knew she was running way too hot right now. But that was to be expected. Hotch was pretty pissed off himself, but Watts had killed that boy because of her. Because he had walked up behind them as _she_ promised they would be back. Hotch had no doubt Watts had intended to slaughter all of them, just to make the point.

There was no hope. There would be no salvation.

But he hadn't counted on them turning around again. And now he'd caught a bullet. But Hotch was still very concerned, because there wasn't enough blood. Not enough to go running into the dark expecting to find his half dead body slumped on the ground.

Hotch was just as thrilled as Emily to finally have had the opportunity to do something besides walk through this place like sheep waiting to be slaughtered by the wolf.

But they couldn't forget, the wolf still had the upper hand.

He could see in the dark, he could spring up out of nowhere, and God knows what other weapons he had in his arsenal besides the axe. Though clearly that was his favorite, there's nothing to say that he also didn't posses a firearm or two.

And bullets went farther than light beams.

They reached the fork in the tunnel and Hotch frantically ran the flashlight back and forth as Emily muttered disbelievingly beside him, "that's not possible."

Both blood trails had disappeared.

And then Hotch remembered, the last time they found a blood trail that magically disappeared they almost got their heads taken off.

Feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, he whipped the flashlight behind them, and then all around.

Nothing.

Still, he moved Emily a little further away from the walls as he continued to look at the two gaping black maws in front of them.

This was bullshit. They had to get out of here. If he was hurt, great. Maybe if they were lucky the fucker would bleed to death. But if not . . . his eyes snapped over to Emily's.

"We're leaving."

Her eyes widened and she started to protest, "but Hotch, if he's hurt . . ."

His face softened, "Emily, I know how badly you want to take a piece of him for killing that boy. But we _can't_ stay here. I think it's safe to say that you hit him, but even _with_ a bullet wound, he was still able to disappear almost instantly. And there was more blood dripping off the axe than there was coming from the other wound," he ran the light around them again, "if there was a straight blood trail that we could follow, that would be one thing, but there isn't. He disappeared into one of his passageways again. And this time I didn't hear any scuffing or scraping and that makes me very nervous,"

He could see all the fight was going out of her and that wasn't what he wanted, but he needed to make her understand. He gave her an imploring look, "you can't be under any delusions that we're somehow in control now. We're not. Nothing's changed. This is still his game and his rules. And we need to get the fuck out of here before he comes back again. "

Biting her lip Emily looked at him for a second and then nodded, "I'm sorry, you're right. For a minute I just forgot . . ."

He cut her off with a humorless huff as he once more looped her arm through his and they started back down the main tunnel, "you forgot we fell through the looking glass. Yeah, I know. It's okay. But if he really is injured, this is the best chance we're going to get to get out of here. He should be distracted for at least a few minutes. That said," he snapped his eyes over to her worriedly, "he's probably going to come back more pissed off than he was before. And given what he seems to enjoy doing when he's in a good mood, I'd really like to be long gone by then."

Emily felt a chill run down her spine. She hadn't thought of that. He WAS going to be pissed off!

She'd just pissed off a man that enjoyed hacking people's limbs off and had already scribbled the date he was going to kill her on her forehead.

Oh Christ!

Whatever remaining bravado she'd been feeling vanished as she tightened her grip on Hotch's arm and turned to look into the shadows behind them. The flashlight beam threw a slight glow behind them and Emily didn't see anything moving. Not that she could see much. But as she looked back there, she started to get that feeling she'd had before.

The one she'd had upstairs right before she got snatched.

Whipping her head back around, she whispered frantically in Hotch's ear, "we need to get out of here right now."

Hotch had already learned what happened the last time he ignored Emily's bad feeling, and he wasn't about to do it again, but he didn't know which way they should go. Feeling his blood pressure start to spike, his eyes widened as he looked down at her and whispered back.

"The staircase is about twenty yards up on the right. We'll risk it and go double time."

He'd love to tell her to pull out the other light and keep a watch behind them. But that would mean she'd have to let go of his arm, and that was definitely not happening right now.

Swallowing hard Emily nodded as she felt her eyes starting to burn, "okay, okay, let's just go fast."

As they hurried down the tunnel, Hotch was doing his damndest not to panic and just run. But they couldn't see far enough ahead to run.

Running was only an option when they knew the danger was definitely behind them. But he had to admit, Emily's feeling was catching. And he didn't think it was just the power of suggestion. Something was . . .

**OH FUCK!**

He heard Emily make a sound almost like a whimper as they both stopped dead in the middle of the tunnel.

Up ahead, blocking the stairs, there was a figure. Still half in shadows, Hotch knew it could only be Watts.

But he was dressed as a clown . . . a clown with a really big axe.

He was in full makeup, dark blue and black triangles around his eyes, maniacally wide smile painted onto his face.

Hotch's eyes dropped down . . . and a small bloody tourniquet tied around his thigh.

Emily's bullet.

For some reason he was just standing there looking at them. He knew they had guns but that didn't seem to bother him.

And for some reason, the fact that the guns didn't bother _him_ . . . bothered Hotch quite a bit.

Watts might be completely fucking insane but he was clearly full functioning. And he'd run from the guns before, so why not now?

Why just stand there staring at them?

He had to know something that they didn't know. And Hotch's heart was pounding in his chest as he tried frantically to figure out why that could be.

WHY WOULDN'T HE BE AFRAID OF THE GUNS!

Hotch wanted to just shoot him in the head . . . but it felt like that would be . . . a bad idea.

"Hello. Emily."

Emily screamed as the words suddenly came out of the darkness.

OH GOD!

That was the same voice that she'd heard upstairs.

Hotch yanked Emily back against his chest, wrapping his flashlight arm around her waist as he spun them both around and against the tunnel wall. As terrified as he'd been a moment before, that was nothing compared to his level of fear right now. Because that voice they'd just heard hadn't come from the stairs.

It had come from behind them.

Hotch's hand was shaking as he whipped the beam back and forth between the staircase and the shadows.

A figure . . . it was coming out of the black.

OH SHIT! OH FUCK!

Some part of him registered that Emily's fingernails had just gouged into his arm

It was another clown . . . with another axe.

He smiled his insane smile as he pointed at Emily with a bloody white glove.

"I've been looking for you . . . Emily."

* * *

_A/N 2: Gah! Crazy killer clowns! _

_Seeing as I do need to start winding down I thought I needed to find that one thing that would throw a good scare into the crowd. I thought that might do it :) I know I personally didn't care for the visual and I'm not even afraid of clowns. But when I think murderous clowns I think, first John Wayne Gacy, and second, Pennywise. And if you don't know who Pennywise is, and you enjoy my story here, then you really want to check out "It" by Stephen King. It's super long, but it's a good summer read. I read it when I was like 16, that summer, and it scared the crap out of me! Really good book though._

_Actually, the reason I put the axe wielding maniacs in clown makeup was because there wasn't going to be a visual description I could come up with that was going to stand up to what was in people's imaginations. That's why, to date, I've kept both Hotch and Emily from seeing him, or them. We'll have to find out next time what's going on there ;)_

_And, if you have seen Session 9, the voice that I use here, the same one I used upstairs when he snuck up on Emily, is the voice of 'Simon.' Now I described it as best I can previously as saying it sounded 'evil and lilting.' But it's so hard to describe a voice so I thought it would be helpful, if you are familiar with the movie, to tell you who I'm channeling here. It's a very creepy voice. And for the clown face, I couldn't find a good enough picture but I figure you can all picture an evil clown. Really, even Bozo would look scary if he was carrying an axe._

_I also found it amusing that nobody thought that EMILY would be the one to shoot Watts :) Everybody assumes Hotch is going to be Quick Draw McGraw but you have to remember, Em was in mama bear mode, looking after the cubs. And what happens when the hunter comes along and kills one of the baby bears? Yeah mama gets pissed!_

_Not to be cruel or anything, but I'm not sure if I'll get the next part done to post tomorrow. I'll try though :)_


	9. Chapter 8

**Author's Note**: I got nothing :)

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Emily started to cry.

Her executioner had just shown up . . . her eyes shifted . . . two of them actually.

Men who had hacked a half dozen teenagers into pieces and then kept them alive for their own amusement. She whimpered as she remembered again . . . three days.

She wasn't supposed to die for three days.

Her stomach roiled. God only knew what they were planning on doing to her until then. But she had seen those kids, so she had a good idea . . . she stifled back a sob . . . she had a very good idea. And as she felt the vice grip Hotch had around her waist . . . she knew that he had a pretty good idea too.

OH GOD! WHAT WERE THEY GOING TO DO?

Hotch dug his fingers into Emily's side, pulling her more tightly against him as he slid them both further down the tunnel wall, away from the clown that was talking to her. Unfortunately that meant they were now closer to the one by the stairs. But that one was still just staring at them. He wasn't holding the immediate threat that the other one was.

The one that knew her . . . Hotch's eyes burned . . . the one that was _looking_ for her. Was that Watts? One of them had to be Watts. But who was the other one?

Hotch knew he needed to think, find a way out of this. But thinking was almost impossible at the moment because his brain was filled with images of what these freaks wanted to do to Emily.

He started taking slow, even breaths as he tried to clear his head . . . reminding himself that none of those things were going to happen. He wasn't going to ALLOW them to happen.

If either of them got within swinging distance with those axes . . . well . . . that was the other reason they needed to save their ammo.

One bullet each . . . he swallowed . . . if it came to that.

But he couldn't let it to come to that. There had to be a way out of this.

His eyes widened as Clown 2 took a step closer . . . but then he stopped, smiling at them both.

Hotch snapped his eyes away from his face . . . he would go insane if he stared into that smile. Instead he focused on the details, looking for an angle.

A way out.

Even with the step forward, the second clown was about 11 paces away, still partly in shadow. Hotch couldn't get enough of the light on both clowns to see either of them clearly. But he could see enough . . . and as he lowered the light slightly . . . suddenly he noticed something.

They both had tourniquets on their legs.

But that wasn't possible. Even if they'd both been in the shadows Emily couldn't have randomly hit both of them in the same exact place.

He looked back at the clown by the stairs . . . still staring blankly . . . the axe was hanging limply by his side. And the only visible blood on him was the tourniquet.

Hotch turned his attention back to the second clown.

Much more solid grip on the axe handle, and he was drenched in blood.

And he was talking.

Hotch's jaw twitched and he raised his gun slightly, looking between the two of them as he gauged their responses. The second clown took a half a step back . . . the first one didn't even flinch. He didn't even blink. There was clearly something wrong with him . . . and Hotch now had a theory.

One that he prayed was true.

Feeling Emily shaking in his arms, he pressed his lips to her ear as he kept his gaze shifting back and forth between the men with the axes.

"Sweetheart you _know_ I'm not going to let him take you away from me. That's NOT going to happen. And I think I might have figured out what's going on here. But I need your help to test my theory. Are you with me?"

She rubbed his arm slightly and he let out a breath. Because he couldn't see her face, he hadn't known how well she was coping at the moment.

Thank God she was still in the game.

He started talking again, his voice not loud enough to be heard by anyone but her.

"Take out your light, hold it on the second clown, keep his attention. I need to look at the first one. If the second one takes more than two steps, start shooting," he rubbed her stomach as his eyes burned, "but remember to keep one bullet. Three feet is our window."

Once he got close enough to use that axe . . . the three foot window . . . the game was over. If he was close enough to swing he'd start taking chunks out of them.

Hands first . . . no more hands, no more shooting.

One way or another, if he got within three feet of them they were dead. And better dead instantly by their own hands than a slow agonizing death with the axe.

Another tear ran down Emily's face as she nodded imperceptibly at Hotch's instruction.

Suicide or dismemberment. What a choice.

She raised her leg slightly off the ground, hurriedly undoing the button on her pocket and pulling out the other flashlight. She could see the second clown was eyeing her as she did it. And that gave her a little boost of confidence that maybe they'd figure out a way out of this. Because though there certainly wasn't fear on his face . . . she could see a little bit of wariness.

He didn't know what they were up to . . . he hadn't planned for everything.

Then her eyes snapped over to the other clown and she noticed that he hadn't reacted at all. Her gaze flicked back and forth between the two of them and suddenly she knew what Hotch was thinking. And for the first time since they'd seen the first figure by the steps . . . she felt a little kernel of hope.

Maybe they would get out of this alive.

She snapped her flashlight on and directed it straight at the second clown.

He didn't like that.

His fingers tightened around the axe handle, and her heart rate spiked as her own fingers tightened around the grip of her gun.

As much as she wanted to shoot the fucker . . . she was down 4 bullets. And they were in too close a quarters to have time to get their spare clips, or probably even her Glock. He only had to cover maybe 10 paces. And if he came at her at a run, there wouldn't be time for anything but to shoot and hope he fell before he covered 7 feet.

But crazy people didn't go down quickly.

So unless she got a perfect headshot . . . unlikely given how much her hand was shaking . . . the guy with the axe was going to keep coming. If he hadn't fallen down dead outside the 3 foot window . . . then her last bullet was for her.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Hotch swung the full beam of his light over the face of the clown by the stairs.

Hotch slowly ran the light over the white makeup. Squinting as he looked at the dark paint around the eyes. When he saw the glint of metal he felt a burst of momentary joy.

It was doused immediately when he saw the second clown snap his eyes over to the first one, realizing instantly what they were doing with the flashlights.

And when he looked back at Hotch and Emily, his face was filled with a murderous rage.

But his voice was deadly calm when he spoke, directing his words this time to Hotch.

"I'm going to make you watch as I cut the bitch to pieces . . . and then I'm going to feed her to you."

As threats went . . . Hotch knew that wasn't an empty one. And his blood turned to ice as he felt Emily's trembling body press further into him. He rubbed her stomach again, wishing he could tell her it would be okay.

But he didn't know that for sure. Just because they appeared to be back down to just one psychopath didn't mean that they were going to get out of this alive.

Yes, this one was clearly wary of the guns. But Hotch had fucked up his big plan to keep them trapped and indecisive. And now he was enraged . . . and he was still only 10 feet away.

For a moment they were at a standoff.

Hotch wanted to fire . . . so badly . . . but they needed that head shot. It needed to be the first one out of the chamber. And if it wasn't . . . Hotch's breath caught.

The clown's hand twitched . . . and then he started screaming as he lifted the axe to his shoulder.

Emily moaned . . . there was nothing but madness in that sound.

The clown shifted his weight slightly . . . and with his threat reverberating in their brains . . . that was enough for Hotch and Emily.

They began firing.

* * *

_A/N 2: Hmm, now was that wise? Or did they just fall into a calculated trap by Clown #2 to use up their ammo? And what is the deal with Clown #1? Anybody figure it out? And yes, I see you waving your hand around imananthropologist :) Anybody else? What's 'wrong' with him? Why doesn't he pose the same threat level as the second clown? I will explain in the next chapter._

_And I'm not deliberately jerking your chains with multiple cliffhangers here in one scene. It's just that I figure the next chapter, most likely, will be the last one pre epilogue. And clearly 'the end' is going to take a little more work. So I figured, given it's already been two days, that you'd prefer I get another chapter up now rather than waiting for some super long one that might take a couple more days to pull together. Hopefully that was the right call :)_

_I'm going to neglect Girl yet again so I can hopefully get this one wrapped up this weekend. If not the epilogue, at least the end._


	10. Chapter 9

**Author's Note**: This is the end. And I know I didn't get back to my entire last round of reviews yet but thank you all :) You had some very creative guesses, but I think you'll find all of your answers are in here!

And FYI, unrelated: Kavi and I posted new prompts on the forum.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Neither of them had fired more than 3 shots before Watts ran back into the darkness.

They froze for a moment before rushing over to where he'd been standing . . . blood on the ground . . . a little spray on the walls.

But the spray wasn't arterial, and he was still moving at a clip so he wasn't anywhere near dead.

Hotch pulled Emily in front of him again as he looked between the tunnel and the other clown.

With the concrete threat now of what Watts was planning on doing to her . . . to both of them . . . there was no way that Hotch could allow even an inch of daylight between them.

He whispered in her ear.

"We need to get around the other one but you keep your light behind us. Keep watching. And switch your weapons. You only have about five bullets left and we're still keeping one until we're in the car."

Emily was already changing her sig for her Glock before Hotch had even finished talking.

As she checked her weapon Hotch squeezed her for just a second as he whispered, "when we get out of here do you want to go to dinner sometime?"

This afternoon had opened his eyes to a lot of things. Not the least of which was what a truly impressive woman Emily was, and how very attached he'd become to her over the past few years.

Sliding off her safety she answered in a watery voice, "I'd like that."

It would be nice to have something to look forward to besides getting carved up into little pieces.

Hotch quickly kissed her cheek before pressing his lips to her ear again, "okay, we're going to have to move closer to the stairs. I really don't think he's dangerous but . . . that's still just a theory, so be ready for anything. And don't forget, Watts has figured out literally how to walk through walls. I'm presuming with construction over the years some of the older tunnels and rooms were sealed over until they were down to this configuration. And he seems to know all of the old entry points so he could turn up anywhere."

With a sharp nod she said softly, "got it."

Now that Emily was covering them, Hotch turned his full attention to the clown by the stairs. He'd had one eye on him the whole time he'd been talking to Emily but he hadn't moved. Though he'd blinked a couple times.

Hotch walked them a little bit closer . . . stopping a solid 5 feet back. Staring at him at this distance . . . Hotch was now close enough to see it clearly.

Watts had definitely performed a lobotomy on this boy.

Hotch had spent enough time in psychiatric hospitals around the country to recognize the behavioral symptoms of lobotomy recipients. The practice was still in use into the 70s and many of those patients were still institutionalized today.

And the instrument Hotch could see jammed underneath this boy's eyelid . . . the glint of metal the flashlight picked up . . . was the successor to the original practice of using an ice pick for the procedure.

He couldn't remember the name of the instrument but he was quite sure there were dozens of them lying around in old hospital like this one.

Now he needed to decide what to do about the boy. And he clearly was a boy, maybe eighteen or nineteen. He was just another victim and Watts had dressed him up as a decoy.

And now that Hotch was close enough he could see the stains on the lower part of the white costume.

Not blood . . . that would have been easy to spot . . . no this was urine.

He could smell it now. And that wasn't the only thing he could smell, the boy had defecated on himself.

That meant he'd probably been dressed up like this for awhile. At some point Watts found someone of the same height and weight and he'd come up with an ingenious plan. You block in someone with an axe wielding clown on either side, he or she is going to be in a blind panic, too terrified to move, thinking both directions would lead to death.

When it reality it was just the one.

But none of the previous victims would have known that. He and Emily probably were the first participants in this game that had advanced psych training and weapons.

And if they hadn't had the guns they wouldn't have been able to buy enough time to even figure what was going on. They would have been like all the others.

Mutilated where they stood.

He waved the flashlight back and forth in the boy's face, trying to get some response. Some reaction.

If Hotch directed the beam directly into his eyes he did blink . . . but that was an involuntary response. Hotch was trying to see if the boy himself was still in there somewhere. If he was, Hotch couldn't even imagine the mental anguish he'd experienced. He'd probably witnessed dozens of people murdered and tortured in front of him.

And Hotch wanted to just walk around him . . . they'd come back and help him later. But he was still holding that God damn axe. Now Hotch was quite sure he posed no threat.

But that was a hell of a gamble.

If nothing else to worry about, there was simple learned repetitive behavior. Hotch didn't know how severely this kid's brain had been damaged. And if he'd seen what Watts used the axe for . . . Hotch couldn't be sure that in close quarters the kid wouldn't simply emulate that action.

With that now as a serious consideration Hotch's eyes started to burn. He didn't want to shoot this boy . . . but it might come to that.

If he couldn't get him to drop the axe that would be the only option left. And they couldn't stay here for hours trying to get through to him . . . Watts would come back. Or double around and wait for them upstairs. Though this time Hotch was quite sure he was going to be busy patching up holes for a longer period than before. From the spray on the walls and the blood on the floor, counting Emily's original shot, Hotch was sure Watts had at least three bullets in him.

So they probably had maybe eight or nine more minutes before he would be crawling back out from under his rock. Hotch's brain started to run faster, figuring he had two options before he'd have to shoot the boy.

Soft sell or hard sell.

Given the trauma this kid had already experienced Hotch couldn't bear to scream at him so he went for the soft sell. He wished he knew the boy's name, he would have had a much better chance of reaching him.

Taking a half a step closer, he lowered his voice, "son, I need you to put down that axe."

The boy blinked but he didn't let go of the handle . . . though as Hotch stared at his fingers he thought they loosened slightly.

Hotch realized then that he probably had become accustomed to Watts giving him instructions, and torturing him when he didn't do what he was told. But if that was true, Hotch definitely couldn't scare the kid now, even it that would be the easiest way. So staying with the soft sell, Hotch realized Emily might have a better chance than he did.

There was something about her, people always responded to her voice. About a minute, maybe a little longer, had ticked past since Watts had disappeared, but Hotch was willing to give this attempt one more minute before he shot an innocent boy.

Patting Emily's side he whispered in her ear, "switch with me. You try, I'll keep watch."

Emily shifted to Hotch's other side and she smiled at the boy before she started speaking in her most soothing tone.

"Honey, I know you're scared, I'm scared too. And I know that you've seen terrible things. But I need you to listen to me. We can help you. We can get you of here. We can get you away from the bad man, but you need to put down that axe. We can't help you until you put down the axe."

She saw his eyes begin to water when she said bad man and she realized she'd struck a nerve.

Most victims of lobotomies, even botched ones, were still functional on some level. Simple words, simple instructions. They could still understand them. It was only those that had completely had their brains scrambled that were drooling catatonics. And this boy wasn't drooling, and he didn't really seem to be catatonic . . . just . . . lost.

Locked away.

And as she thought about what words he'd responded to she realized maybe part of it wasn't just the procedure . . . maybe part of it was a defense mechanism.

Her eyes began to burn as she looked at him, "does the bad man hurt you if you don't do what he says?"

For a moment there was nothing and then a tear ran down his face . . . she had her answer.

The only answer he was capable of giving.

Emily gave him a watery smile, "honey I promise we'll take you with us right now if you just loosen your fingers a little bit and let that axe fall to the ground. You won't have to see the bad man anymore. He can't do anything to you. We'll protect you. So you just loosen your fingers."

Seeing the axe slip a little lower down, she gave him an encouraging smile, "good boy, come on, just a little bit more. Just let it fall. Drop it on the ground."

Nothing . . . and then a clattering as metal hit concrete.

Hotch let out a sigh of relief as he heard the smile in Emily's voice, "good honey, very good."

Knowing that Emily now was the one he was responding to, Hotch whispered, "you grab the axe . . . just be careful."

Until he'd patted him down and made sure there were no more weapons, Hotch would have preferred to be the one that stepped closest to him, but they didn't have time for that. At least 2 minutes had passed since Watts disappeared.

It was time to roll out.

They closed the distance between them and the boy, Emily putting her boot out to slide the axe over to her. She shoved her flashlight back into her pocket before leaning over to grab the axe handle.

Hefting the weight in her hands, she couldn't imagine using it as a weapon. She stared at it for a second, but then she saw the bits of dried blood on the wood and she quickly handed it off to Hotch.

Hotch tucked the flashlight under his arm before he accepted the axe. It was a little awkward carrying something else but it really didn't seem wise to leave the psycho killer an extra axe so readily available as he followed after them. Hotch was planning on dumping this one in the first open doorway he saw upstairs.

After tucking her gun into her waistband, Emily stepped up to the boy in the garish clown makeup and quickly patted him down, cringing as she hit the wet spot on his pants. Turning back to Hotch she whispered, "no weapons."

He nodded, "good, now if you can get him to go up the stairs then we'll take him with us now. But if he won't move then we have to leave without him, agreed?"

She nodded, "agreed."

As much as it would hurt, she'd do it. The longer they stayed the more likely Watts would come back. And just like the kids in the tunnel, they could do nothing for this boy if they were dead.

Taking the flashlight from Hotch, he now had a gun and an axe, he could cover them both for now, Emily reached up to pull the creepy hat off the top of the boy's head before she patted him on the arm.

"Come on honey, we're leaving now."

For a moment he stared at her, and she was afraid they were going to have to leave him. And then his throat started working and he croaked out a word.

"Mmm . . . mmom."

Tears started running down her face, "okay baby," she patted his arm, "we're going to go find your mom," she flashed Hotch a quick look as she got the boy turned around. Then she looked back, patting the boy's shoulder, "come on, up the stairs."

With Emily gently pushing him, she got the boy to walk up the steps. Fortunately they couldn't really run up the staircase anyway, there were two blind corners . . . at the landing and then again at the top.

When they arrived at the landing Hotch's eyes traveled over the slice marring the center of the wood.

Right where his head would have been.

Then his eyes traveled up to the handprint on the wall. It was no longer bright red . . . the blood was oxidizing to brown. Jaw twitching he turned away as he touched Emily's back, whispering as they climbed towards the top.

"There aren't any side rooms off this hallway, so we should be relatively safe here. It's not the like the tunnels, this is solid plaster, we'd be able to see if there were any indentations. And it's a straight shot down to the main crossway we were in before you were taken. We're going to go left and head for the doors. Double time down the first hall. Just before we get to the corner, I want you to pull your gun again. Those last forty feet down the main hall are going to be the most dangerous. If he's going to make another run at us, that's most likely where it will be."

As they reached the top of the stairs Hotch remembered one more thing to tell her. Pulling her back against his chest, he put his lips directly on her ear, "if at any point we have to leave the boy, then we have to leave him," he felt her tense up and he rubbed her side, "I know that's awful, and it goes against everything that we're trained to do, but it's clear that there are other victims here, and Emily . . . we won't save anyone if we don't save ourselves."

As terrible as Hotch felt for this poor kid, Emily was still his first priority. Getting her out of here. And he knew her, now that she'd made a connection with the boy, especially now that they'd come this far with him, she felt responsible. But in this situation Emily's compassion could get her killed.

If they had to cut and run, Hotch would throw her over his shoulder if he had to.

Emily swallowed hard before responding softly, "I understand."

He was reminding her not to stare at the tree when there was a whole forest to traverse. And she wanted to leave the forest so badly. And she knew that the only way to do that was to do just what Hotch said . . . ignore her protective instincts.

But she didn't know if she was capable of consciously abandoning an abused boy who trusted her.

Though she knew Hotch was right . . . they needed to get out of here now if they wanted to save anyone. So instead of focusing on the boy, Emily focused on Hotch. She knew he would never leave without her, so any delay on her part could get him killed. And if it came down to saving Hotch or the boy . . . well . . . there would be no contest.

And with that thought in mind she continued down the corridor, pushing the boy ahead, tapping his back occasionally to keep him moving quickly.

All the while praying that nothing would happen that would force her to leave him behind.

The light bounced slightly as they hurried along, highlighting the brown blood stains on the floor. The ones that Hotch had followed, thinking that they were hers. Now she wondered whose blood that was.

Who were all these people? Would they ever know how many were killed? Their names?

She shook her head slightly . . . no time for those thoughts right now . . . they were coming up to the crossway.

Reaching out, she grabbed the boy's shoulder to stop him just before they reached the end of the hall.

She felt him trembling under her hand, he wasn't doing that before, even downstairs. The hairs on her arm started to rise.

He knew something that she didn't.

Simultaneously she pulled her weapon and whipped around, running the light behind them. Less than five minutes had passed. It was too soon for Watts to have caught up already . . . her eyes widened . . . or maybe it wasn't.

CHRIST!

Before Hotch had even turned fully around she'd fired twice at the bloodied figure rushing towards them, axe already in the air.

Even though it was clear they'd hit him downstairs, it didn't seem to have slowed him down any. But luckily this time she had to have gotten at least one good shot into him because he fell down, shrieking with rage.

Hotch started pushing her, screaming.

"GO NOW! RUN!"

This was their last chance. If he didn't stay down they were fucked.

They took off running with Emily pushing the boy, screaming at him that they had to get away from the bad man.

As they turned at the crossway, Hotch hurled the axe as hard as he could down the opposite corridor. Once his hand was free he grabbed Emily's arm on one side and looped his hand holding his gun through the boy's arm, pulling him along even faster.

They raced down the main corridor . . . suddenly he could see streaks of fading grey light at the end of the hall.

The front door!

Hotch felt a jolt of exultation which was immediately tempered as he started praying.

PLEASE GOD, DON'T LET IT BE LOCKED!

As they ran up they didn't know yet if it was locked . . . but they could clearly see it was blocked.

There was a chair under the knob . . . probably to prevent anyone else coming in looking for them. And of course that was also an obstacle slowing them down as they tried to get out.

Hotch's eyes were wild as he watched behind them while Emily jammed her gun into her waistband. Yanking the chair free, she tossed it to the side where it smashed into the wall.

With her heart racing in her chest, she sent up a silent prayer as she twisted the knob.

Nothing.

OH GOD!

Her panic spiked and she nearly screamed before she realized she was pushing and not pulling.

Turning it again, she yanked hard, flying backwards as the door whipped open. Hotch caught her, shoving her and the boy forward through the open doorway and down the stairs.

The door slammed shut behind them and Emily's face briefly lit up when she saw the driveway.

THE SUV WAS STILL THERE! THANK YOU JESUS!

Reluctantly letting go of Emily's arm Hotch started frantically digging in his pocket for his keys as they ran down the steps. Letting out a breath, he yanked them out and hit the locks. Then he hurriedly opened the backdoor so Emily could help the boy in.

It was one thing to get him to run . . . another to get him to 'hop up.' That wasn't a basic instruction and she had to bite down hard on her temper as she pleaded over and over as she patted the seat.

"Come on honey, jump up. Get in the car. We're going to go find your mom now."

With his trigger finger twitching, Hotch anxiously stared at the front door of the hospital.

This was taking too long.

Hotch had just decided they were going to have to go without him when Emily exclaimed.

"HE'S IN!"

She slammed the door shut and she and Hotch ran over to the driver's side. They were still tied together and they weren't about to take the time to get undone now.

Emily jumped in, sliding over with Hotch right behind her.

He put the key in the ignition as she hit the locks. And then Emily immediately pulled her gun out again, watching the front door as Hotch had been doing a moment ago.

Fortunately it still wasn't quite dark so she could see it clearly. Sneaking a quick look at her watch she was amazed to see it wasn't even six.

They'd only been inside for two hours. Nobody would have even been looking for them yet.

The temperature had dropped considerably, it was still March, and Hotch had to let the engine warm up for a second. It almost killed him but they were so close to freedom. The last thing he wanted to do was stall out.

Taking a breath he put the car in reverse and hit the gas, peeling out backwards. As soon as they were clear of the main building he did a J turn, flipping the SUV around so they were facing forward, and then he gunned it down the driveway.

Given the turns on this section of the road, he didn't dare take his eyes away from his driving for even a second, but he did reach over to grab Emily's hand.

"We made it!"

She gave him a weary smile as she kissed the back of his hand, "yeah we did. And I want a drink now."

His eyes crinkled slightly, "okay sweetheart, you can have a drink before we go back to work."

He immediately sobered as realized the work they still needed to do tonight.

Christ, he was going to need a whole bottle of Jack and half a battalion of troops before he went back into that building. But they needed to go back in tonight before Watts had a chance to slaughter the rest of the people he was holding.

Hotch squeezed Emily's hand.

"See if your phone works. If it does call Dave, tell him we found Watts. He needs to mobilize everyone he can. And I mean everyone, any agency that carries a gun, I don't care if they're Fish & Game, I want them here. Search teams of no less than six officers, everyone has two weapons and they all have their own flashlight. And they need to bring the big sodium lights and I want the God damn power on. I don't care if they have to wake up the governor. As a matter of fact they should probably do that anyway."

Emily was nodding as Hotch was speaking and she had her phone out before he was done. At that point they were almost halfway down the hill. They couldn't move as quickly as they wanted because Hotch had to keep slowing down for the turns.

She hit Dave's number and then waited as it kept ringing. Finally he picked up just before it went to voice mail.

"Hey! We've been trying to get a hold of you guys. It's too bad you went all the way up there . . ."

Emily tried to cut in, "Dave listen . . ."

But he kept talking over here, "Emily, it doesn't matter what you found in the files. Tell Hotch that we GOT Watts! We got a tip from the neighbors about some property his grandparents owned. It was out in the boonies, just the kind of privacy he needed."

Emily's blood was turning cold as Dave spoke and she turned to Hotch as she said haltingly, "Rossi said they have Watts."

His eyes widened, "what?" He gestured with his head, "let me . . ."

She hit the speaker so Hotch could talk.

"Dave, what do you mean you _have_ Watts? You think you found out where he is? Or you think you have him in custody?"

There was silence. And when Dave's voice came back he sounded a little confused.

"We have him in custody. We got the tip around four o'clock and when we couldn't reach you guys I decided it couldn't wait. We got the warrant and rolled in with two SWAT teams an hour ago. I'm still at the house."

Hotch shook his head impatiently, "but how do you KNOW that it's him? How do you know for sure that you have the right guy?"

There was another pause before Dave answered, "Hotch, this IS Watts. I'm positive. It matches him right down to the front tooth he chipped when he bit off that nurse's finger. And we could tell as soon as we saw the basement that it was the right guy. We found drivers' licenses that he'd kept as trophies. Plus there were his doctors ID badges. Man Hotch, you should have seen this place. He'd built a padded, insulated, torture chamber covering the entire basement of this farmhouse. There was blood everywhere. Shackles on the walls, body parts in jars. Reid and Garcia are trying to run a comparison on the trophy licenses and the missing persons lists but we're definitely numbering in the dozens. Trust me, this guy is one of the worst we're ever going to see."

There was another pause and when Dave came back his voice was touched with concern.

"You guys sound kind of funny. Is everything okay?" he paused, "did you have an accident or something?"

They didn't answer.

Biting her lip Emily looked over to Hotch, both of their eyes were wide with fear as their gazes slid to the rearview mirror.

The boy in the clown makeup was rocking back and forth. And further back, in the fading light, they saw a figure on the road, axe hanging by his side.

He was waving.

Hotch's heart started pounding in his chest again.

THE FUCKER STILL WASN'T DEAD! AND WHO THE HELL WAS HE!

Tears began to pool in Emily's eyes as she turned away from the mirror to look at Hotch.

"Why won't he DIE? God Hotch, if that's not Watts how are we going to catch him," her voice broke, "we don't even know what he looks like!"

Emily began to weep and Hotch squeezed her fingers, not one intelligible, comforting thought was coming to him.

Christ, this guy had miles of tunnels to hide in. And she was right, they had no idea what he looked like. They had approximate height. That was it. The makeup hid his face and the costume hid his body type and hair color.

In the backseat the boy's rocking increased with Emily's sobs and then he started to moan.

Even over the two of them, Hotch could still hear Dave yelling through the phone Emily had dropped on the seat between them.

He wanted to know what was wrong, what had happened, why was Emily crying.

Hotch opened his mouth to answer him and then closed it again as he saw the figure fading in the distance.

He didn't know where to begin.

* * *

_A/N 2: Arc had asked me about 'motivation' for my psycho. But she'll attest that I did not answer because I didn't want to ruin the ending. And that's because all along I had planned on Dave telling them at the end that Watts was in custody. In this story, just given the gruesome, unusually horrific degree of torture and mutilation, I thought it worked better not knowing anything about the killer. He's just the boogeyman. And you don't know how the boogeyman came to be in your closet, you just want him gone._

_Besides, in my mind, there's never an 'acceptable' reason for why people torture and kill other people. Yeah, there are SOMETIMES breadcrumbs you can follow back, but even then, that's crap too. Millions of people are physically abused or grow up with alcoholic or absentee parents. The majority of them grow up to be functional members of society. A percentage of those people will be criminals, some of them will be psycho or sociopaths, but hardly any will grow up to be serial killers. And often the most sadistic freaky killers, tracing them back, really didn't seem to have it that bad at home. Certainly, there are people that had it worse. And the serials never seem to have in their background anything on par with what they would later do. Personally, I think some people are just born evil and all they're looking for is an excuse to do what they want to do. Not to say we shouldn't look for answers or patterns, if only to help catch them, but in this story in particular, I didn't even want to try and give any reasons at all. _

_Yeah, the shipper in me couldn't help setting them up on the potential relationship path. But, you think you found somebody's mutilated body, that's going to bring your feelings for that person into sharp relief. _

_The lobotomy stuff. Jamming a piece of metal under the eyelid was a common method of performing that procedure. Certainly less messy, and much faster, than drilling holes. And with Hotch and Emily's training it was clear they'd be well versed in that history. Hell, I learned it just watching Session 9, but I did a little research as I was writing this and everything in the movie was true. Well, as it related to that :) And as to whether you could communicate with someone that had that procedure, you can. It just depends on how the instrument goes in and what gets destroyed. Some people had multiple procedures, which would go to show that sometimes it didn't do much of anything the first time. I figured the boy here, his brain had probably been damaged enough to reduce him to the equivalent of moderate mental retardation and the rest of it was extreme trauma over what he'd seen and what had been done to him._

_This is the first multi-chapter story that I actually got wrapped. And though I do feel some sense of accomplishment, I'm also kind of sad too. I could have played longer but, as I said before, I didn't want to wear out my welcome. That said, there are clearly a couple of strings dangling, and rest assured, I am planning an epilogue. Perhaps in a day or so, certainly by the weekend._

_NOW, in addition to my obvious request for feedback :) I'm looking for input. I liked working in this horror/suspense genre and I'd like to give it another whirl and maybe try a few more of them. I already have a prompt in mind to do the next one. "The X Files – This Is Not Happening" I haven't used that one yet, and I'm planning on pulling in a few more members of the team on the next outing. _

_The thing is, I need a new creepy location. _

_I'm not going to go to another mental hospital. Been there, done that. So I need ideas for locations, they can be general or specific. Like I picked Cedar Grove for the asylum because it is supposed to be haunted. If you have another place, supposedly haunted or just with a horrible real life history, please pass it along. _

_The only fairly specific thoughts I have for other stories are maybe a series of murders call them out to the hotel where they filmed The Shining. Or maybe something where they're investigating a dump site and get lost underground (like The Descent, but not). _

_But I'm not 100% on either of them so still looking for ideas. Or you can vote on one of the two that I have already, maybe that will give my brain a push. I think they both have potential, but they aren't solidly formed yet._


	11. Epilogue A

**Author's Note**: I decided to do 2 epilogues. A and B. This is A.

A, I think will be more generally acceptable to the populace, B is actually how I really see the story ending.

* * *

**Epilogue A  
**

The team spent another week in New Jersey. The scale of carnage from these two killers was unprecedented. Though they would never be sure of the actual numbers, it was estimated that there were close to 200 victims between both killers.

The BAU was providing assistance from afar for the excavation of the graves down at Watts' location, but mostly their efforts were concentrated at the hospital.

Except for Tuesday.

They spent the whole day at Watts' house on Tuesday. That was the 7th, the date etched on Emily's forehead. Hotch banned the entire team from the asylum for those full 24 hours. And that night he, Rossi and Morgan all slept in Emily's hotel room. The other two didn't know that Hotch had actually been sleeping in Emily's room since Sunday, their first night back at the hotel. Not that they were having sex, their relationship hadn't progressed that quickly, he just hadn't let her out of his sight for more than five minutes. And he didn't plan to, not until they were back in Virginia.

Not after what he'd seen in the kill room.

Unlike Watts' trophies, the drivers' licenses with pictures of his victims' faces . . . the clown kept the actual faces. And every face had a first name and a date on the forehead. They were nailed to the walls.

Eighty seven in all, and less than half of them were ever positively identified. The dates on the foreheads started two months after the closing of the facility.

Emily had started hyperventilating when she'd seen them and Hotch had rushed her back out into the main tunnel. Her and their four assigned deputies. Hotch didn't allow anyone into the hospital without an assigned partner to stay tied to, and everyone traveled everywhere in six member search teams.

Even with those precautions they still lost two deputies and an ATF agent on Wednesday. They got lost searching and ended up in one of the far tunnels.

An area without electricity.

By the time the echo of their gunfire reached the main tunnel and a SWAT team was sent in looking for them, it was too late.

The remaining three members of the team were found stumbling in the dark, trying to find their way back out. The ATF agent was screaming, covered in blood.

She'd lost her hand and her partner when the axe severed the line between them.

After they got the survivors out, SWAT went back in, trying to find the clown, the missing agent and deputies. An hour after they started looking, they found the bodies of the deputies . . . a few minutes later they found their heads.

They'd been covering the rear of their formation and it looked like they'd been taken out with a single swing of the axe.

Next SWAT found a blood trail that lead to the ATF agent's corpse. A message was written on his torso.

_Sorry I missed you Emily . . . Aaron. The three of us will catch up later._

From that point, Rossi and Morgan convinced Hotch and Emily to stay out of the tunnels completely. It was the only part of the hospital that there was just no way to secure. And there was certainly enough to do elsewhere. Victimology was a nightmare. In addition to the concrete evidence of at least 87 dead, they'd found living victims, more mutilated like those in the tunnel. And also some drugged, unconscious, uninjured and blessedly unaware, spread throughout the patient wards.

Most of them had dates on their foreheads for the coming weeks. From what they could gather from the uninjured, the clown's victim pool came from all over. In addition to New Jersey, some of them were from New York, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Rhode Island. The common story was that their cars had broken down in the middle of the night when they were traveling on the turnpikes in New York or New Jersey or the Garden State Parkway. Many were young people driving to or from school over Spring Break. And because they were in transit, and were spread out geographically from their home states and schools, many of them weren't even officially missing yet.

Those were the new abductees.

But then Hotch had a new theory on victimology and he had Garcia expand her lists to cover any state off the I-95 corridor. She started getting hits almost immediately throughout New England and the Mid Atlantic.

The victims they were able to identify were solely due to Garcia's diligent work.

The boy in the clown suit, his name was John Becker. His mother had filed a report on him in Rhode Island three months earlier when he failed to make it home for Christmas. He had been a senior at UVA, due to graduate with a degree in mechanical engineering.

Now he had an IQ in the low 50s.

The girl in the tunnel, the one with the blue eyes, her name was Tina Mancuso. Her parents had filed a report on her one week earlier in Bucks County Pennsylvania. She'd been due home for her sister's wedding.

The doctors said they might be able to fasten a prosthetic to what was left of her right arm. That was it. Barring some major medical breakthroughs down the road, the rest of the damage was most likely permanent. Her parents put her in a hospital in southern Pennsylvania. They rarely visited.

Though Hotch and Emily did try to go every couple months.

Garcia didn't stop crying once the entire week. All she did was compare the trophy names from both murder scenes with missing persons lists spanning half of the Eastern seaboard.

The scale of the human tragedy was beyond even her coping skills.

When he got home Hotch gave her two weeks off and Dave sent her and Kevin on an all expenses paid trip to Disneyland. When she came home she was better . . . but she was never quite the same as she was before.

None of them were.

And they never did find the clown. The theory was that he had to have been another patient at one point. But there was nobody in the files, besides Watts, that came close to the level of psychosis they were dealing with.

The trail went cold.

Three days after they got home Hotch and Emily had their dinner. Two weeks later Emily transferred out of the unit, she said she couldn't do it anymore. Hotch understood. He only stayed because that was all he knew now.

The same week she started as an instructor at the academy, Hotch moved into her condo. Though that was just the official move in date. In actuality they had been almost inseparable since that afternoon at Cedar Grove.

It was the only good thing to come out of that day.

//////

Seven months later, Garcia, who had been tasked with monitoring unusual fluctuations in missing persons cases around the country, picked up on a notable drop in the homeless population in New York City. That night Hotch and Emily came home and over dinner he looked up.

"I think it's beginning again."

* * *

_A/N 2: So that was the first ending. The more 'palatable' ending. I also like the more palatable version because it's setting things up for a possible sequel, a combo of ideas from two people, __paksiegurlie__ (who mentioned the NY subway system – a logical place for the clown to relocate to, it's just over the river from that part of NJ) and __ImaSupernaturalCSI__ (who gave me the idea of even doing a sequel at all). I was thinking about working on the sequel next, but my brain has already started working on a different story so the sequel isn't happening for a little while. Next, we will be going with my idea of murders at the hotel where they filmed The Shining. I might have the first chapter of that up later this weekend. _

_Hopefully this answered all of your major questions, but let me know if there was anything in particular I missed that you'd like for me to fill in._

_I'd of course like to know what you think about this ending. And I'll try and get the alternate up tomorrow. Perhaps sooner ;)_


	12. Epilogue B

**Author's Note**: Epilogue B. Yes, I know, FINALLY!

**NO HAPPY ENDINGS HERE!**

I did tag this as a horror story. And it is. So you're all warned, read this at your own risk. If you'd prefer the ambiguous, decide your own ending of Epilogue A, don't read this one. Because it ends BADLY. So please don't yell at me if you're not happy.

All I can promise is that I did not physically injure any member of the team, or Jack. And I specifically mention Jack just because something I said in here scared the crap out of Imananthropologist when she read the first draft. So, I'm addressing that point for everyone else now before there's any confusion. I'd NEVER hurt my boy! I've given him rubber duckies, Scooby doo slippers, and Mr. Bobo. Fictional or not, I'd never allow anyone to lay on a hand on him. So now that I've addressed that one point, on with the horror show.

The beginning of this is virtually identical to A. The change is at the break.

* * *

**Epilogue B**

The team spent another week in New Jersey. The scale of carnage from these two killers was unprecedented. Though they would never be sure of the actual numbers, it was estimated that there were close to 200 victims between both killers.

The BAU was providing assistance from afar for the excavation of the graves down at Watts' location, but mostly their efforts were concentrated at the hospital.

Except for Tuesday, they spent the whole day at Watts' house on Tuesday. That was the 7th, the date etched on Emily's forehead. Hotch banned the entire team from the asylum that day. And that night he, Rossi and Morgan all slept in Emily's room. The other two didn't know that Hotch had actually been sleeping in Emily's room since Sunday, their first night back at the hotel. Not that they were having sex, their relationship hadn't progressed that quickly, he just hadn't let her out of his sight for more than five minutes. And he didn't plan to, not until they were back in Virginia.

Not after what he'd seen in the kill room.

Unlike Watts' trophies, the drivers' licenses with pictures of his victims' faces . . . the clown kept the actual faces. And every face had a first name and a date on the forehead. They were nailed to the walls.

Eighty seven in all, less than half of them were ever positively identified. The dates on the foreheads started two months after the closing of the facility.

Emily had started hyperventilating when she'd seen them and Hotch had rushed her back out into the main tunnel. Her and their four assigned deputies. Hotch didn't allow anyone into the hospital without an assigned partner to stay tied to, and everyone traveled everywhere in six member search teams.

Even with those precautions they still lost two deputies and an ATF agent on Wednesday. They got lost searching and ended up in one of the far tunnels.

An area without electricity.

By the time the echo of their gunfire reached the main tunnel and a SWAT team was sent in looking for them, it was too late.

The remaining three members of the team were found stumbling in the dark, trying to find their way back out. The ATF agent was screaming, covered in blood.

She'd lost her hand and her partner when the axe severed the line between them.

After they got the survivors out SWAT went back in, trying to find the clown and the missing agent and deputies.

An hour after they started looking, SWAT found the bodies of the deputies . . . a few minutes later they found their heads. It looked like they'd been taken out with a single swing of the axe.

Next they found a blood trail that lead to the ATF agent's corpse. A message was written on his torso.

_Sorry I missed you Emily . . . Aaron. The three of us will catch up later._

From that point, Rossi and Morgan convinced Hotch and Emily to stay out of the tunnels completely. It was the only part of the hospital that there was just no way to secure. And there was certainly enough to do elsewhere. Victimology was a nightmare. In addition to the concrete evidence of at least 87 dead, they'd found living victims, more mutilated like those in the tunnel. And also some drugged, unconscious, uninjured and blessedly unaware, spread throughout the patient wards.

Most of them had dates on their foreheads for the coming weeks. From what they could gather from the uninjured, the clown's victim pool came from all over. In addition to New Jersey, some of them were from New York, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Rhode Island. The common story was that their cars had broken down in the middle of the night when they were traveling on the Turnpike or the Garden State Parkway. Many were young people driving to or from school over Spring Break. And because they were in transit, and were spread out geographically from their home states and schools, many of them weren't even officially missing yet.

Those were the new abductees.

But then Hotch had a new theory on victimology and he had Garcia expand her lists to cover any state off the I-95 corridor. She started getting hits almost immediately throughout New England and the Mid Atlantic.

The victims they were able to identify were solely due to Garcia's hard work.

The boy in the clown suit, his name was John Becker. His mother had filed a report on him in Rhode Island three months earlier when he failed to come home for Christmas. He had been a senior at UVA about to graduate with a degree in mechanical engineering.

Now he had an IQ in the low 50s.

The girl in the tunnel, the one with the blue eyes, her name was Tina Mancuso. Her parents had filed a report on her one week earlier in Bucks County Pennsylvania. She'd been due home for her sister's wedding.

The doctors said they might be able to fasten a prosthetic to what was left of her right arm. That was it.

Garcia didn't stop crying once the entire week. All she did was compare the trophies names from both murder scenes with missing persons lists spanning half of the Eastern seaboard.

The scale of the human tragedy was beyond even her coping skills.

When he got home Hotch gave her two weeks off and Dave sent her and Kevin on an all expenses paid trip to Disneyland. When she came home she was better, but she was never quite the same as she was before.

None of them were.

And they never did find the clown. The theory was that he had to have been another patient at one point. But there was nobody in the files, besides Watts, that came close to the level of psychosis they were dealing with.

The trail went cold.

Three days after they got home Hotch and Emily had their dinner. Two weeks later Emily transferred out of the unit, she said she couldn't do it anymore. Hotch understood. He only stayed because that was all he knew now.

The same week she started as an instructor at the academy, Hotch moved into her condo.

Though that was just the official move in date. In actuality they had been almost inseparable since the afternoon at the asylum.

//////

Things were good for awhile, they fell in love. Hotch proposed in late August, and they set a date for late October. They were careful to keep it small, and to keep it out of the paper. Emily was now off the team and Hotch had been keeping a very low profile since New Jersey. Though it wouldn't be hard to figure out where they lived, Hotch still wanted to stay off the radar completely.

Just in case.

To that end, to keeping everyone safe, he even banned JJ from being on camera. And starting with New Jersey, even in the paper she was never identified as anything other than "an FBI Spokesperson."

This UNSUB was nothing like anyone Hotch had ever dealt with before. This one really scared him. Because he'd known that day in the tunnel . . . those threats weren't empty.

And the clown had promised he'd see them again.

So even though it went against social protocol for both of their families, their mothers understood about their concerns and agreed that there would be no announcement about the wedding. And the wedding was a happy day.

Their last one.

Emily's father gave her away, Rossi was best man, JJ was Maid of Honor, and Jack was ring bearer. The guest list was small, just a few members of their immediate families, the team plus one, and Haley and her boyfriend.

Hotch and Haley had agreed that it was important for Jack to not see any animosity between them and their significant others. So starting that summer, they had all made a point of spending time together. At first it was a little strange, but then, it wasn't so bad.

Haley's boyfriend was a good guy, an attorney in the Inspector General's Office and Hotch grew fond of him. And Haley and Emily had been fast friends. They'd bonded that night of the Super Bowl party.

Haley was even in a couple of the wedding pictures with Emily. Out on the lawn . . . in front of the church.

Hotch and Emily had been so careful to keep everything quiet. Not to bring any attention to themselves.

But what they hadn't counted on was the State Department.

An enterprising young press officer had taken note that Ambassador Prentiss was returning from her assignment in the Middle East to attend the wedding of her only daughter.

This press officer followed procedure and released a small blurb in the _Washington Post_ detailing the Ambassador's return and her activities while in Washington.

The name of the church was included.

After the ambassador found out who was responsible she'd had him transferred to Kabul on a five year assignment.

But that was two weeks later. The damage had long since been done.

The first day of his honeymoon Hotch received a panicked phone call from Haley's boyfriend. They'd come home from the wedding and he'd taken Jack for ice cream. When they got back Haley was gone. The door was forced, there was blood and he didn't know what to do. Hotch told him to get the hell out, take Jack to the nearest police station, and stay there. Somebody from his team would meet them shortly.

Hotch and Emily immediately headed home.

Beyond the blood splatter, which was minimal, they didn't find any trace of Haley.

The team unofficially looked for weeks beyond the point that the official investigation went cold.

Hotch was nearly overcome with grief and guilt over Haley's disappearance. And though he had a lot of enemies, he knew who had taken her. And his terror was tenfold that if it was who he feared . . . that not only was Hayley's suffering unimaginable, but that Jack and Emily were next.

So they put Emily's condo on the market and moved into a high security apartment building in the city. Two armed guards in the lobby, three deadbolts on the door, and bullet resistant glass.

Morgan and Rossi took turns following them home, making sure they got into the building okay.

Everyone on the team was given a panic button. And Morgan taught Garcia how to use a gun.

Jack was put into daycare at the Academy, first because it was the safest location Hotch could find for him. But also so that Emily and Hotch could check on him during the day. Jack missed his mother terribly and they had no answers for him. If they knew for sure that she was dead it would be one thing, but she'd just disappeared. And there is no explanation to give a four year old as to why his mommy had gone away.

And every night, wrapped up in Hotch's arms, Emily cried herself to sleep. She knew that Haley had been taken in her place, and she just prayed that he'd killed her quickly.

//////

Seven weeks after Haley's disappearance, one week before Christmas, Hotch got a letter at the office. A single piece of white paper, written in block letters.

_Merry Christmas Aaron. Hope the family's well._

_Check your trunk. _

His heart in his throat Hotch was frantically dialing Emily's cell phone as he ran down to the daycare, taking the steps two at a time, nearly sobbing in relief when Emily finally answered at the same moment he saw Jack playing through the glass window.

He pulled Jack out as he screamed at Emily to get up to the BAU. And then with a terrified Jack in a death grip, he ran back up to the office, meeting Emily in the hallway. He kissed her desperately, hugging Jack between them before he whispered in her ear what had happened.

They kissed Jack, and they told him that they loved him and that they would be right back. And then they left him with Garcia, JJ and Reid in the BAU conference room. They had strict instructions to keep the door locked and not to let anyone in until they returned. And then Emily and Hotch ran downstairs with Morgan and Rossi to join the FBI bomb squad setting up in the parking garage.

Holding Emily's hand tightly, Hotch watched as the dogs sniffed the cars all around the area. They were trained to bark for explosives only and they gave no warning so one of the technicians went over to open his trunk.

As soon as Hotch saw the look of horror on his face . . . he knew what his present was.

Hotch doubled over and threw up on his shoes. Emily was already crying when he turned to her. And though he tried to keep her away, she insisted on going over with him. So they ran over together, clutching hands, already knowing what they would find, but still praying that it wasn't true.

But it was. And they both started sobbing when they looked inside.

The bandages were brown.

Emily's hand quaked as she reached out to touch her face. Hotch picked up the Christmas card sitting on top of what was left of her body. His hand was shaking as he opened it.

_If you had stayed out of my life then I would have stayed out of yours._

_One down, two to go. I'm looking forward to meeting your boy . . . and I'm saving Emily for last. _

_You still get to watch that one._

Hotch howled in grief and rage as he ripped the card to shreds.

A horrified Dave and Morgan tore Hotch and Emily away from the trunk so that the paramedics could get in. And as the two of them slumped on the ground, clutching each other, still sobbing, Morgan and Rossi knelt down next to them, rubbing their backs, telling them over and over that maybe it wasn't too late, maybe the doctors could still help her.

But they all knew that was bullshit.

And then the paramedics pulled the tape off of Haley's mouth, and Emily started to moan as the other woman's shrieks echoed over and over in the cavernous parking garage.

"KILL ME! SOMEBODY **KILL** ME!"

* * *

A/N 2: I told you it was bad. But that's just how I saw it ending. I wrote a horrible story and I just thought it would have a horrible ending. And this is what came to me. They don't always get off scot free. Like with Foyette, one of these days they were due to run into the Big Bad. And the Big Bad was going to follow them home. But I knew that THIS wouldn't be palatable to everyone so I cut it at the break and put up the other ending too.

I couldn't hurt anyone on the team like that, even fictionally. They spend too much time in my head. But Haley, though I'm fond of her, is peripheral and I needed SOMEBODY that would be personal for Hotch.

In my mind, after this, Rossi finances Hotch and Emily disappearing with Jack. I thought about adding that tag but I kind of preferred the jarring ending. And imananthropologist said she did too :) Well, once I assured her that Jack is in no danger.

Love it or hate it, that's all folks!


End file.
